


A Hand of Metal and Wheels

by areyouarealmonster



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate season 1.2, Amputee Leonard, Disabled!Leonard, Gideon can't regrow limbs, M/M, No deus ex machina, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, robot hand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouarealmonster/pseuds/areyouarealmonster
Summary: Leonard shatters his hand trying to get free of the cuffs that Mick--Chronos--left him in. Gideon can seal the open wound, but no more than that. Leonard has to come to terms with losing his hand, and to deal with the inconvenient feelings he has for the man making him a prosthesis.Ray, however, is still with Kendra, which makes Leonard's feelings even more inconvenient and pointless.There's no easy fix for his feelings, or for learning how to use a mechanical hand. It's tough, and it's frustrating, but at least Ray Palmer keeps touching him, so he's got that going for him now.





	1. Left Behind

Leonard knows what he’s going to do the second he gets to the end of the metal railing. He sees his cold gun around the corner and, well, that’s it. He’ll never be able to aim well enough with his feet to hit just the cuffs. The railing, well, it’s just not brittle enough, and he’d still just hit himself.

 

He needs a target. A good-sized target. One he’ll hit on the first go, and then be able to get free. There’s no time to dither, no time to worry. He’s made his plan, and he’ll see it through.

 

Doesn’t mean he isn’t dreading it.

 

He gets the cold gun down to the floor and slips off his shoe. He’s lucky, he wasn’t wearing his combat boots today. Unlacing his boots would have taken longer than he’d want it to.

 

Leonard gets it into position, shifting his wrists around, seeing if he can aim it at his left hand—his non-dominant hand.

 

He can’t. The cuffs get in the way, and he can’t reliably aim in a way that he isn’t sure he wouldn’t hit other body parts. He can put the corner of the wall behind his right hand, protect the rest of his body from the deadly stream.

 

So, right hand it is. He looks at the cold gun and takes a deep breath. He has to do this, he has to get free, he has to do _something_. Stop Mick, stop the team from killing Mick, anything. Mick’s been brainwashed, no matter what he said, and this is _Leonard’s fault_ , and he has to fix it.

 

He shoots.

 

Leonard wears gloves for a reason, the jacket and the sweater and the goggles for a reason. He knows how cold the gun is. He can feel it in the air. Knowing and feeling are _definitely_ two very different things.

 

Fuck, that hurts. That _really hurts_. He breathes through the pain, knowing that what’s to come will be even worse.

 

God, is he really gonna do this? Gideon might be able to save the hand, if it’s just frozen. She can heal frostbite, even…even if his hand is a solid block of ice.

 

Right?

 

Doesn’t matter, no time to dwell on it, he has to _move_.

 

Leonard throws his hand down, his body weight behind it, and shatters it.

 

He _screams_.

 

If he’d thought it had hurt before, it’s nothing compared to now. It had been somewhat numb before, his nerve endings frozen solid. Now, though? His wrist is jagged edges, stopping right above where his wrist bones should be.

 

And, fuck, it _burns_.

 

He’s free of the cuffs, now, though. Well, one of them, at least. Enough to be able to step away from the railing, finally, and find his way off the ship. Stumble, really, but nobody’s around to judge him for it.

 

_God-fucking-dammit_ this hurts.

 

The path into the League is surprisingly clear—well, less surprising when he sees the fallen bodies. Mick—no, Chronos—has certainly left bread crumbs for Leonard to follow. Not intentionally, Leonard is sure, but it leads him to the chamber all the same, in time to see the rest of his team surrounding Mick.

 

“Don’t kill him!” he shouts, his voice steady despite the agonizing pain throbbing through his right wrist.

 

“Sorry, don’t kill _Chronos_?” Rip asks, incredulous.

 

“He’s not Chronos,” Leonard says, and gestures to Mick with his head, since he can’t seem to pry his left hand away from his right wrist. “Show ‘em.”

 

Nobody moves, so Leonard gestures again, this time at Firestorm. Well, really at Jax.

 

Jax listens, and rips the helmet off. Leonard’s vision swims, and he tightens his grip on his wrist to keep from passing out. It works, barely, and he’s just able to see Sara knock Mick out. That’s better than dead, at least.

 

Raymond picks Mick up and flies back to the ship, Leonard can see that through his spotty vision.

 

“Shit, man, what did you do?” Jax asks, extinguishing his flames as he walks over to help Leonard away from the door frame. The very lovely door frame that has been keeping him upright for the last few minutes.

 

“Had to get loose,” Leonard mumbles, his lips numb.

 

“Man, I think you’re going into shock. Come on, let’s get you back to the ship.” Firestorm slips under Leonard’s arm and heaves, pulling Leonard forward.

 

Leonard stumbles but manages to stay upright with Firestorm’s help and together they hobble back to the ship. Firestorm leads him right to the med bay, dropping him into the chair, slipping the IV around his wrist.

 

“Cellular regeneration takes some time,” Gideon says immediately. “I can begin by administering a high dose of pain medication, and I can begin working on your wrist once that kicks in, Mr. Snart.”

 

“Cellular regeneration?” Leonard asks, as he feels the cool wave of pain meds hitting his system. “You can regrow my hand?” There’s a pause, and Leonard peeks through eyelids he doesn’t remember closing to look up at the ceiling. “Gideon?”

 

“Unfortunately, no, Mr. Snart.” Gideon sounds as dismayed as he guesses an AI can. “I will be able to extend a small portion of skin growth, to cover the exposed tissue and bone, but I am afraid the damage is irreparable and irreversible.”

 

Jax winces. “Shit, man. I’m sorry.”

 

Leonard shrugs, hissing as the movement jostles his arm. “’s fine. Didn’t expect anything, ‘nyway.”

 

“Please report to the brig, team,” Rip’s voice sounds over the speakers. Leonard groans and shakes his left hand sharply to slip out of the medical bracelet, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot.

 

“Hey, man, where are you going?” Jax asks, holding out a hand to keep Leonard from getting up.

 

Leonard raises an eyebrow. Or, at least, he thinks he does. These pain meds are _strong_ , and he’s not sure he can feel his face. Or any part of his body. Huh. “To the brig,” he says. “Cap’s calling us.”

 

“Your wrist, dude!”

 

“’m fine. Pain meds. Let’s go.” Leonard stumbles out of the med bay. Jax curses behind him, with a muttered apology to Stein, who Leonard is sure berated him for the swear, and then swoops in again to support Leonard down the hallway.

 

Leonard blinks and he’s in the room that contains the glass-walled brig. Firestorm props him against the wall and separates, Jax and Stein moving their separate ways.

 

The wall is cool against his head, and it relieves the pounding in his skull slightly. Or maybe that’s the pain meds. He chances a look down at his wrist. The jagged edges are still there, even if he can’t feel them. Whatever Gideon gave him, it’s potent.

 

Potent enough that he can slip his arm inside his jacket without wincing at the rough edges rubbing against the fabric. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore, doesn’t want his teammates looking at it.

 

Doesn’t want _Mick_ looking at it, and knowing that it’s because of him. Leonard thinks that Mick would feel something like regret, but he doesn’t think Chronos would extend the same courtesy.

 

Anyway, Leonard sure doesn’t want anyone’s fucking pity. They’ve all seen it by now, but he doesn’t want them staring at it, looking at it like he’s _damaged_ now. He’s always been damaged, this is just one more fucking thing to add to the goddamn endless list.

 

Then Rip turns to him and demands an explanation, and Leonard decides that he’d like maybe a _little_ bit of pity. That’s typical, always wanting what he isn’t going to get.

 

It’s bad enough that Rip and Stein accuse him of, whatever it is they’re accusing him of—being a liar? They already know that. Jax chiming in just digs the knife in deeper. Jax, who had just half-carried him to and from the med bay. Sara, Kendra, and Raymond seem unsure of how to feel about it, and he feels all their eyes on him.

 

He answers the best he can, the pain meds loosening his tongue enough that regret slips out. “Then at least he wouldn’t have wound up a chew toy for the Time Masters.”

 

Rip spouts some bullshit about opportunities and reformation, and Leonard has to stop from rolling his eyes. Mainly because he thinks he might pass out if he moves his eyes that way. At least that brings the team meeting to an end, and Leonard pushes off the wall to make his way back to the med bay.

 

This time, it’s Sara who appears at his elbow, slipping under his arm to keep up upright.

 

“You okay?” she asks, voice soft so the team doesn’t overhear.

 

Leonard snorts.

 

“Gotcha,” she says, and falls silent. That’s what Leonard appreciates most about Sara, she knows when to shut up. When he’s in a good mood, she likes to pry information out of him with surgical precision, and he rolls his eyes and lets her. When he’s in pain, though, she knows he just needs…quiet. Companionship.

 

He’s never had a friend like her before, and it feels nice.

 

She settles him back down on the cot when they get back into the med bay, and Rip slips in behind her.

 

“I take it you’ve already spoken to Gideon about the limitations of her abilities to fix your hand?” Rip asks, watching as Leonard slowly takes his hand out of his jacket. Leonard nods, and Rip clips the medical bracelet back over his remaining wrist.

 

“Nothing to be done, blah blah blah,” Leonard says, as another dose of pain meds flows through him, wiping out any sensations that had started to creep back in.

 

“Maybe Ray can do something,” Sara suggests, voice still quiet.

 

Leonard looks up at her, already picturing it in his mind. A shiny metal hand. He wants to make a Star Wars joke, but he knows it would fall flat with this audience. Instead, he just says, “Maybe.”

 

“I’ll speak to Dr. Palmer,” Rip says, poking at the screen on the wall absently. “I’m sure he can put something together for you.”

 

Leonard nods and leans his head back against the headrest of the cot.

 

Gideon pipes up, “I am now going to start the process, Mr. Snart. Be advised that this will likely result in some pain, even with the medication.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Leonard says. His brain feels fuzzy, and he’s honestly not sure he even cares about pain anymore. “Just get it over with.”

 

The blue and white light that Leonard is getting to know very well comes on, shining on his jagged wrist. The beams play over the skin, and he feels a dull pain as the sharp edges seem to mold into something smoother. He watches the skin knit together over his exposed bone and muscle with morbid fascination.

 

This is it, he thinks. No going back, not that there ever was. The shock hasn’t worn off yet, but he can already tell that it’s gonna hit him later.

 

Or, maybe now.

 

His hand.

 

His trigger finger.

 

Gone.

 

Oh, fuck. What has he done? This was a bad idea, this was stupid and moronic and there must have been another way, something, anything. He’s useless, pointless, there’s no reason to keep him around. Not only did he fuck over the team by not killing Mick, by not going back for Mick, but now he’s not even good for what they keep him around for.

 

It’s not just his trigger finger. It’s not just the cold gun that he’s mourning—hell, he might even be able to use that left-handed with enough persistence, and he sure as hell is persistent.

 

It’s just that lock picking generally requires two hands.

 

It’s just that disabling security systems takes a lot longer with just one hand to work with.

 

Thieving, stealing, those aren’t things that are particularly welcoming to disabled people.

 

Because that’s what he is now. Disabled.

 

Leonard wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to break. But Rip and Sara are here, peering at him with…with pity in their eyes, and he can’t bear to give them any more reasons for that. So he swallows his screams, blinks back his tears, and steadies himself.

 

He’s going to pay, later, but he’ll take that when he comes to it. It’s not like he’s not practiced in pushing away his breakdowns until he can be alone.

 

“You good?” Sara asks, patting his elbow.

 

No. “Yeah.”

 

“Excellent,” Rip says. “We should reconvene on the bridge, and once we have our next course heading, I will speak to Dr. Palmer about making you a prosthetic.”

 

This time, Leonard doesn’t get anyone swooping in to support him to the bridge. He’s fine now, right? His wrist is healed over, the skin smooth and curved around the tissue and bone.

 

He can’t stop rubbing at it. It feels weird—alien. He pulls his sleeve down to cover it, and it stops him from fiddling with it.

 

And Raymond’s gonna make him a new hand. So, he’s gonna be fine.

 

Right?

 

There’s no chance to talk to Raymond immediately about the _prosthetic_ —he’s going to have to get used to that word, to the way it feels in his mouth—because the man is nowhere to be found. At least, not until Raymond walks onto the bridge, his arm around Kendra, both of them with shower-damp hair.

 

Leonard tries to ignore the way it makes him feel, but he’s too loopy from the pain meds to be anything other than jealous. He’s always had a thing for the Boy Scout, ever since he got on the ship. It’s just bad luck (and the fact that Leonard can’t flirt to save his life, at least not when he wants to actually _achieve something_ with his flirting) that Kendra got to Raymond first.

 

Leonard has tried to get over it, get over _him_ , but every time he thinks he’s past it all, Raymond does something _annoyingly endearing_ and sucks Leonard back in. It’s frustrating, and Leonard would like it all to stop.

 

But, of course, it’s probably only going to get worse, if Raymond is going to be making him a robotic hand. They’ll have to spend _time_ together, instead of making snide comments on the bridge. Well, instead of _Leonard_ making snide comments and Raymond responding with an expression that he probably thinks is a glare, but is just _adorable_ —ugh. It shouldn’t be as cute as it is. Leonard shouldn’t find it as cute as he does.

 

Rip starts talking plans, though, and Leonard peels himself away from the wall and gets closer, with a snarky comment, of course. He may be stoned from pain medication, and still in massive amounts of pain on top of that, but that sure as hell isn’t gonna stop him from being an asshole, especially not from being an asshole to Rip.

 

He has to lean against a chair when he gets closer to the group, though, and he’s glad that it’s already a habit of his and therefore doesn’t look out of place. That it doesn’t look like he’s about to fall over, or collapse, at any moment. He keeps his right arm down, out of anyone’s direct line of sight, so they don’t see an empty space at the end of his sleeve where a hand should be.

 

Luckily, Rip keeps his speech short, and Leonard can sit down, an empty chair beside him. He closes his eyes against the jolt of pain that shoots up his arm as they take off and begin the time-jump to 2147.


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray starts work on a prosthetic hand for Leonard. 
> 
> Leonard, meanwhile, tries to figure out how to do simple tasks with only one hand. It's not easy, especially since he's still coming to terms with losing his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, each chapter was going to be an episode. Then I wrote over 5k of stuff that happens in between Left Behind and Progeny, so here you go, an interlude.

The Waverider slows and settles in the temporal zone. Rip jumps up as soon as it’s steady enough for him to do so, and turns to address the team. “Right, we’ve been going nonstop for, uh, how many hours, Gideon?”

 

“Twenty-nine,” Gideon answers smoothly.

 

“Fuck, really?” Sara groans, dropping her head down into her hands.

 

“Apparently so. Let’s take a few hours, get some rest. Dr. Palmer, can you see to Mr. Snart’s hand?” he asks, less a question and more an order.

 

“His…hand?” Raymond asks, and glances over at Leonard. Leonard sighs and holds his hand up, letting his sleeve fall down slightly to expose the stump at the end of his forearm. “Oh,” Raymond says, his eyebrows knitting together. “I thought…”

 

“You thought Gideon would be able to just fix me up, and we’d all go about our day?” Leonard finishes, trying not to sound tetchy.

 

“Kinda,” Raymond admits. “But, yeah,” he continues, to Rip, “you want me to make him a prosthesis?”

 

“I’m right here,” Leonard drawls, glaring at Raymond. “And, yes, he wants you to make me a prosthetic hand. I, also, would like you to make me a prosthetic hand.” He leaves ‘so I can feel useful’ out of that sentence, no need to announce that to the entire team.

 

“I can do that!” Raymond announces, and jumps up. He walks halfway across the bridge and then stops, looking back at Leonard. “Uh, I need you for, like, measurements and stuff.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Leonard lifts the bar up above his head and stands, trailing along behind Raymond. As he leaves the bridge, he hears Rip announce that he is going to go speak to Mick before they land in 2147 and Leonard feels his heart drop into his stomach.

 

He’s been so focused on himself, on getting free and then getting healed, that he hasn’t even had time to process…Mick.

 

Chronos.

 

Whatever.

 

It seems that Leonard just can’t stop fucking up. He should’ve just stuck to crime; he never should have stepped foot on this goddamn ship with these fucking do-gooders. Yeah, sure, he got arrested a few times, but that’s nothing compared to how badly he’s fucking up this whole _hero_ thing.

 

If only his goddamn growing sense of morality hadn’t gotten in the way. But, what was he supposed to do? Choose Mick over the team?

 

A few months ago, he would have, no question. Mick, versus a bunch of losers? Easy.

 

Now, though? Not so much.

 

As much as he hates to admit it, Leonard _cares_ about this team. Even if it is a team of useless losers. Not that he _wouldn’t_ describe himself as a useless loser. Another thing that was different only a few months ago.

 

But, Mick? Mick has been with Leonard through everything. Through juvie, through jail, through heists and botched plans and _Lisa_. Mick provided a place for Leonard to stash Lisa when Lewis was in a worse place than usual. Mick put his body on the line for Leonard and Lisa, put his body in between Lewis and them, more than once.

 

Is Leonard really so _flaky_ that he betrays his best friend, his _brother_ , after such a short time with a bunch of noble-minded fuck-ups?

 

Is he really so _useless_ that the question in Raymond’s eyes, the tilt of his head, the ‘will you?’ left unspoken, made Leonard’s decision for him?

 

It wasn’t all that, though. He didn’t want the same things Mick wanted, not in that moment. He wanted…he really just wanted to save the world. He didn’t want to see it burn, he _doesn’t_ want to see it burn. He wants to see it grow and change, for the better.

 

So, where does that leave him?

 

In the lab, with Raymond, holding out his right wrist is apparently where it leaves him, at the moment. Raymond has a pen between his teeth, and a measuring tape in his hands, mapping out the planes of the stump at the end of Leonard’s forearm. He switches between measuring and sketching, the pen flying over the paper, a recreation of Leonard’s arm, labeled with numbers and the most minuscule of measurements.

 

“Can you roll up your sleeve for me?” Raymond asks, tucking the pen behind his ear and holding his measuring tape out expectantly.

 

Leonard hesitates. The scars on his lower forearm, which Raymond has already seen—and touched—are normal enough for someone with his colorful past. It’s just that the number of them that continue up his arm might bring up questions.

 

“Past your elbow?” Raymond prods, and Leonard has to relent. Pausing more will just give Raymond more cause to ask about them.

 

He pushes up the arm of his thick-knit navy sweater, glad that the material has enough give to stretch enough that he doesn’t have to take it off entirely. Layers are comforting, and he’s already shrugged off his jacket to give Raymond better access. He already feels exposed.

 

“Thanks,” Raymond mutters, circling Leonard’s arm with the measuring tape, scribbling down numbers as he measures up to Leonard’s elbow. “Not sure how far up the prosthetic is gonna have to go up your arm, with what I want to do.”

 

“What do you want to do?” Leonard asks, curious.

 

Raymond looks up at him, as if he’d forgotten Leonard was actually a living, breathing person. “I have a few ideas,” he says, after a second. “Uh, first, I guess I should ask what you want.”

 

Leonard shrugs. “What are my options?”

 

“Oh!” Raymond leans over and grabs a tablet, thumbing through it. “I’ve got a few mock-ups here, some of which I’ve fabricated before. I think I want to try something new with yours, though, since I have some room to play. Before, when I was working with prosthetics, I was trying to make them as affordable as possible, for mass production. Unfortunately, even what I came up with was too expensive to be viable…” He trails off, focused on looking through the folders on the tablet.

 

Leonard waits, knowing that when Raymond focuses, the world around him disappears. Instead, he takes the time to study the drawings that Raymond did of his arm. They’re rough but clear, and Leonard has to appreciate the artistic bend to them. They’re clearly schematics, clearly for building on, but they’re sharp and clean regardless. There’s something chilling, too, about looking at something so, so _blunt,_ for lack of a better word. There’s no romanticizing it—his hand is gone. He holds his arm out, comparing it to the drawing, moving it around to look at different angles.

 

“Ah!” Raymond exclaims, drawing Leonard out of his head. “Here we go. I knew it was in here somewhere. I made these concept sketches early on, just to see what the possibilities were, but I never got to make them, because they were too expensive. I have all the materials here, though, so I can make whatever you want.” He starts to hand the tablet over to Leonard, and then hesitates. “Right. I can hold it if you want to scroll through.”

 

Oh. Yeah. Holding it and scrolling would be a bit of a hassle. Maybe once Leonard gets used to the stump, he can scroll with it, but it’s still so new. This is better. He reaches up his left hand, and clicks on the first picture in the album. The hand looks like some sort of plastic, but sleek, white and black with articulated joints. The wrist is on a hinge, connecting it to the part that would secure around his forearm. Very sci-fi.

 

He’s still on the picture when Raymond speaks again. “Oh, and it doesn’t have to, like, look robotic. I can also probably cover it with a skin-like material so it looks like, you know, a hand.”

 

Leonard flicks his gaze up to look at Raymond. “So you’re asking if I want _Empire Strikes Back_ Luke Skywalker or _Force Awakens_ Luke Skywalker?”

 

Raymond’s mouth falls open.

 

It’s nice to still feel like he can surprise people. He smirks. It feels weird on his face, like it doesn’t belong there, not right now, but he needs something to help him feel normal. “What, Raymond? I watch movies.”

 

“Yeah…but… _Star Wars_.”

 

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s seen _Star Wars_.”

 

Raymond nods. “Well, yeah, but not everyone knows it well enough to remember which movie we see Luke’s mechanical hand in.”

 

He has a point. Leonard shrugs again. “Okay, so I’ve seen them a couple times.” He reaches up to flip to the next picture, trying to quell the warm feeling bubbling up inside him. Impressing Raymond about nerdy things is not something he’d really expected he could do, but it would seem as though he did.

 

When the next picture loads, though, all thoughts of impressing Raymond fly out of his head. The prosthetic is sleek metal, gunmetal gray and gold. The part that fits over the forearm reminds Leonard of the ATOM suit, but in one, solid piece. The wrist hinge is more subtle, but seems to have a range of movements, judging by some annotations on the design.

 

And the hand. The top of it is that same shiny, smooth design, with gold detailing on the knuckles. But when he swipes the screen to rotate the image, it’s the fingers and the palm that draw him in. The fingertips are ridged on the undersides, clear on the tips, and beautifully articulated. The palm is made up of several pieces, fit together, and it looks like they all have give to them.

 

The arm part and wrist look like they’re there to be sturdy and secure, and the fingers look like they’re made for delicate motions.

 

Leonard falls in love.

 

“I want to be Luke in _Force Awakens_ ,” he says. “This one. No fake skin. I want to see it.”

 

He looks up to see Raymond beaming at him. “That one’s my favorite too! It never got past the concept stage, so I’m excited to finally fabricate it!” Raymond’s eyes are bright and warm, and Leonard’s breath catches.

 

It’s all too overwhelming, and he has to look away.

 

“Hey,” Raymond says, his voice softer, “you haven’t slept, have you?” Leonard shakes his head, and Raymond continues, “You’ve just been through a trauma. Well, more than one, I guess, with Mick and all. Sorry, by the way.” Leonard just nods, still looking down. “Get some sleep,” Raymond suggests, kindly.

 

That’s probably a good idea, and not just because Leonard is far too weak to not want to do everything that Raymond suggests. Ever since Russia, even though it was listening to Raymond that got him in trouble in the first place, he’s had a hard time saying no to those big brown eyes. Even if he specifically isn’t _looking at them_. “Okay,” he says. He stands up, and stumbles.

 

Raymond catches him, hands hooking around his elbows to steady him. “You okay? You need help getting back to your room?”

 

Probably. “No, I can manage,” he says, shrugging his jacket back on. Even if he has to half-lean against the wall, he can get back to his room on his own. He _can_. He makes it to the doorway before he remembers that maybe he should have manners, of some sort. “Raymond,” he says, turning around and leaning heavily against the door frame.

 

“Yeah?” Raymond replies, looking up from where he’s already sinking into his work.

 

“Thank you. For, uh, doing this.”

 

Raymond smiles at him again, a wide, glowing grin that makes Leonard’s stomach churn. “Of course! You’re my teammate! I’m glad to help!” He looks back down at his notes, and starts gathering materials and tools together, before Leonard can even process his words.

 

Probably a good thing, the exhaustion is hitting Leonard by this point, and he just needs to get back to his room and pass out. It takes longer than he’d hoped—and a lot of pushing off the walls with his remaining hand—but he makes it back to his room.

 

When he gets there, he realizes that he probably should have stopped by the med bay for more painkillers on the way, but he’s sure as hell not gonna go back now. He’s here, and he’s staying here until he’s slept a bit.

 

He slips his jacket off again, hanging it on the hook next to the door. That was easy enough. He looks down at his sweater and jeans. He can do this one-handed, no problem. Right?

 

First, he needs to deal with the cold gun and holster. He has to reach across his body with his left hand to unholster the gun, and he fumbles getting it out. That’s the hard part. Once he gets it out he lays it across his desk and refocuses on the holster. First, he undoes the buckle around his thigh. Then he releases the one that attaches it to his belt, catching it before it falls. He drapes that over the desk as well. One thing, done.

 

The sweater and his t-shirt underneath aren’t hard to get off. Leonard grabs the neck with his left hand and pulls them over his head. Easy. He drops them down on the bed to fish out the black t-shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket.

 

Now for…folding. He usually folds his sweaters, tucks them neatly back into the drawer. It’s gonna be harder with only one hand, but he can do this. He flips the sweater over, so the front is laid flat against the bed, and starts tucking the sleeves flat against the back, folding the sides in as well. It’s not as neat as he’d like, but he’s able to grab the hem and flip it up somewhat cleanly.

 

He grabs the folded base and turns it back over. There. It doesn’t look great, but it’s folded. Small steps. He opens the drawer with the toe of his shoe and drops the sweater in in. That’s the shirts done.

 

Pants, next. He kicks his shoes off, placing them next to his various pairs of combat boots. Combat boots that he can’t lace up, so he can’t wear them. At least, not yet.

 

He keeps grasping for things with his right arm, like his belt. He sighs, and once again reaches across his body with his left hand instead to pull the end from the loops, and lift it up and out of the buckle. Leonard isn’t sure if exhaustion is making everything ten times more difficult than it should be, or if this is how it’s gonna be for a while, but he doesn’t like it.

 

Even unbuttoning his pants is a process, and he fumbles with the button for a few seconds before he gets it loose. The zipper is a struggle, too, and he only manages to get it about halfway down before just giving up and shoving his pants down and off. Another thing that should be easy, but is odd and lopsided with only one hand. He attempts to push at the right side of his pants with his stump, but it feels weird. The skin is tender and sensitive and he’s not sure it _hurts_ , exactly, but he doesn’t like the way it feels.

 

Normally, this would be the point where Leonard would fish out his sweatpants and the long-sleeved Henley he wears to bed, but the thought of putting on clothes again after all the effort he had to put into taking them off in the first place makes him want to curl up and die. His boxer-briefs will be enough.

 

So, instead, he pulls off his socks and gets into bed, under the layers of blankets on his bed—a comforting weight on him to help him fall asleep and stay asleep.

 

* * *

 

Leonard doesn’t even remember closing his eyes, but he must have, because when he opens them again, the lights are off and he’s groggy and bleary.

 

“Gideon,” he says, “was I asleep?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Snart,” Gideon replies. “For nearly twelve hours.”

 

 _Fuck_. “Did I miss anything?”

 

“No,” she says. “The captain instructed the team to take an extended rest, after it was clear that you would not be emerging any time soon. We are still in the temporal zone.”

 

“Right,” Leonard mutters. “2147 isn’t going anywhere.” He reaches out to throw the blankets back, and is instead hit with a wave of pain. “Fuck!” Of course, he can’t throw the covers back with his right hand, he _has no right hand_. Why did that _hurt_ though? His wrist is healed over, that should be the end of it, right?

 

“You might be experiencing phantom limb pain,” Gideon suggests, her voice as monotone as ever. “Your brain is sending signals to an extremity that is no longer there.”

 

“Just fucking great.” Leonard pulls the blankets back with his left hand, and jumps down from the bed. The throbbing in his right wrist is slowly fading, but it still stings. He shakes it out as he walks into the bathroom.

 

He’s steadier than he was before, but he still doesn’t feel _well_. He’s a bit queasy, a bit achy all over. At least going to the bathroom is simple enough, especially without any extra layers to get in the way. He still feels a little too exposed in only his boxer-briefs, but he reminds himself that he’s alone in his room.

 

Leonard really is too used to being around people constantly, and being on edge because of it. It’s not that he doesn’t like the team; hell, he betrayed Mick for them. He just can’t relax fully around any of them, not yet. Not even Sara, even though he’d count her as his closest friend on the team.

 

He shakes his head and rubs at his eyes. They’re dry and hurt a bit from not having taken his contacts out, but he’s not gonna touch _that_ yet. One thing at a time.

 

Brushing his teeth is a little more of a process, but he wants to do it before he gets in the shower because his mouth feels gross. He fiddles with the toothbrush for a minute, before laying it across the sink, bristles up, and squeezing the tube of toothpaste over it. It’s also weird, brushing his teeth with his left hand, but he manages it.

 

He looks at himself in the mirror as he finishes, wiping at his mouth with the back of his remaining hand. After a second to brace himself, he holds up his right arm, swallowing down the bile that threatens to rise up and come spilling out.

 

It’s not really that Leonard is disgusted by his lack of a hand, it’s more what it represents.

 

Losing his hand, it’s the end of an era, really. Maybe the hand Raymond is making for him will be amazing and Leonard will be able to do everything with it that he could before, but maybe he’ll lose abilities instead. At the very least, he’ll have to relearn so much.

 

His hands are what have gotten him through, well, everything. They defended him from his father’s fists, they defended Lisa from the same. They were what got him brought along on jobs with his father, and what picked up the skills he needed to make a name from himself, apart from Lewis.

 

They kept him safe in juvie with punches, and they got him everything he’s ever gotten in this life. Everything he’s stolen: every lock he’s picked, every system he’s hacked, every precious artifact he’s snatched.

 

Leonard tries to picture what the metal hand will be like, but keeps getting stuck on the fact that he feels…helpless.

 

He’s not, not really. He knows that. His left hand is still agile, and he’s still strong, and large, and intimidating when he wants to be. But so much of himself is bound in his fingers, deft and lithe, and now half of what they were.

 

“Mr. Snart,” Gideon says, breaking through his thoughts, “when you’re ready, Dr. Palmer would like to see you in the lab.”

 

Leonard sighs. He needs to stop stalling and get in the shower. It just sounds like so much work, showering one-handed, and he’s _weary_. Not tired, he slept enough that his brain is clear again, but he still wants to curl back up in bed and not face the world for another few days.

 

He can’t do that, though, and he wouldn’t do it anyway. It’s _weakness_ , and Leonard needs to stamp that out. He takes a deep breath. He’s strong, he’s ice, he can _do this_.

 

He steps out of his underwear and gets into the shower, turning the spray on slightly above lukewarm. The water feels weird on his stump, and he holds his wrist out of the spray. The skin is still tender, overly sensitive, and it still aches. He’d ask Gideon why, but he assumes she’d just say something about ‘normal recovery times’ and ‘I can’t fix everything, Mr. Snart.’

 

So much for progress.

 

Washing his body is easier than washing his hair, since using a bar of soap with only one hand is easier than trying to maneuver a shampoo bottle without dropping the bottle or getting the thick liquid everywhere. As he loses a good portion of the bottle down the drain, he seriously considers just getting out of the shower and shaving his head completely. He doesn’t. He just grits his teeth and scrubs the way-too-much shampoo into his close-cropped hair.

 

One round of shampooing is enough, and he doesn’t use conditioner anyway. After he rinses away all the soap and shampoo, he turns the shower off and steps back out.

 

Once he’s all dried off—a process that takes longer than usual, like everything else—he walks back out into his bedroom to face his closet. He’s put on his robe, which he usually wears anyway, but now he can’t even successfully tie a towel around his waist, so it’s this or nothing. He can’t even tie the robe closed correctly, just loops the ends of the belt through the loops and calls it good enough.

 

Shirts are easy enough, he just pulls out a plain black t-shirt and a clean sweater. Socks and underwear are easy as well, as easy as anything is right now, and he puts them on and continues rifling through his closet.

 

Pants are…not ideal. The thought of having to pull them up, zip and button them, and then put a belt on is exhausting. He sighs, and reaches back into the closet to grab one of his kilts. He hasn’t worn any of them yet around the team, and he’s not entirely sure how they’ll react.

 

It could be a wide range of anything from, ‘you’re not Scottish,’ to, ‘really, a skirt?’ to, ‘you look like a nerd-bro with your utilikilt.’ It’s also the easiest thing to put on in his closet, since it just snaps shut. He can put it on with one hand.

 

Fuck it, who cares what the team thinks? He lost a fucking hand for them, they can deal with his fashion choices. And, yeah, it’s a skirt. So what? Leonard puts on the kilt, fastening it over the hem of his shirt and sweater. _Much_ easier than pants. He can’t wear his holster with the kilt, and his cold gun would be too much of a hassle anyway right now so he just leaves them on the desk.

 

He usually wears his combat boots when he wears a kilt, but all his boots need to be laced up. Leonard really doesn’t want to fight with laces right now, so he just slips on the shoes he wore the day before. He doesn’t bother to look at himself in the mirror, just slides his left palm over the door release and walks out into the hallway.

 

As he approaches the lab he hears voices, and recognizes them as Raymond and Kendra.

 

“Ray, you need to sleep,” Kendra says, in a pleading voice.

 

“I did,” Raymond insists, sounding distracted. “You made me sleep for six hours, which was too long, and the hand is only barely functional. I wanted it working fully by the time Snart woke up.”

 

“He’s probably still asleep!” Kendra says. She sounds frustrated, like they’ve been having this argument for a while.

 

Leonard steps into the doorway and clears his throat. “I’m awake,” he says, not pretending that he didn’t overhear them.

 

“See!” Raymond says.

 

Kendra just sighs. “Fine. _I’m_ gonna go take a nap, since Rip doesn’t want me to join you guys in 2147, anyway.”

 

“Goodnight!” Raymond says, beaming up at her. She gives him a fond smile, a kiss, and walks out, ignoring Leonard—and his kilt—as she goes.

 

Then Raymond’s attention turns to Leonard. Raymond seems to be just entirely in hyperfocus mode, and Leonard wants to squirm under the other man’s gaze. He sees Raymond’s eyes flick down to the kilt and back up, and expects a comment.

 

Instead, Raymond just says, “You wanna try the hand?”

 

Leonard nods and walks over to the table, sitting down across from Raymond.

 

“It’s still kind of rough, I’ve got to put a lot of the plating on, but it’s workable,” Raymond says, and shuffles piles of metal around to expose the hand. He’s right, it is rough. It looks more skeletal than sleek, but it’s still gorgeous. Leonard reaches out with his left hand and runs his fingers along it. It’s warm to the touch, and it feels…alive, almost. There’s an energy to it.

 

Leonard glances up to find Raymond watching him. Oh, right, he probably wants to know what Leonard thinks. The only problem is, Leonard isn’t sure _what_ he thinks. On the one hand—oh, that’s a bit too on the nose—it’s a beautiful piece of tech. On the other, what it represents is…well, Leonard’s trying not to think about that.

 

“It’s good,” he says, for lack of anything better.

 

Raymond beams at him. “Okay, I’ve put together a neural network device, so I’m gonna set that up first, and then I’ll attach the hand and we’ll see how it all works together. Sound good?”

 

Leonard nods again, and Raymond picks up a small black device, shaped like a hearing aid. “This is for the neural network, so you can control the hand. I use a version of it for the ATOM suit, and there was one time where I was wearing the suit and Ol—the Arrow was controlling it. It was pretty cool, lots of punching. _Anyway_ , this isn’t an exosuit, this is your hand, so the movements need more refinement, and it’s gonna take some time for you to get used to it.”

 

It’s a bit disappointing that he won’t just be able to use the hand normally right away, but then again, he hadn’t expected to be able to.

 

“May I?” Raymond asks, standing up and walking around the table. Leonard gestures for him to go ahead, and he sits down on the bench to Leonard’s right. He leans forward, and tucks the device behind Leonard’s ear.

 

Leonard shivers as Raymond’s fingers brush against his skull, and he tries to hide it. Luckily, Raymond seems not to notice as he turns away to pick up his tablet and start tapping away at it.

 

“I’m just setting up the connection,” Raymond mutters. “This is just a prototype, the next version will probably have to be implanted.” He stops talking, and Leonard focuses his attention back on the prosthesis. The underside of the hand seems to be mostly complete, and he pokes at the various pieces. There’s a nice give to them, and pushing against them almost feels like pushing at skin. Raymond really is a genius, no doubt in his mind about that. To have fabricated this in six hours is miraculous, astounding, _dizzying_.

 

It probably helps that Raymond already had the schematics, but still. Leonard couldn’t have dreamt this up in a hundred years, and Raymond put it together in six hours.

 

He pushes on the palm again, and starts as he realizes that he _feels_ that. Not the touching, but the _being touched_.

 

“Ah!” Raymond exclaims. “Did you feel that? Is the connection working?”

 

“Looks like,” Leonard says, running his fingertips over the palm of the hand again and shivering at the sensation.

 

Raymond bounces slightly in his seat with excitement, and Leonard wishes he didn’t think that was so _cute_.

 

“Okay! Let’s put the hand on and see how this goes!” Raymond reaches forward and grabs out what looks like a sock. “I had Gideon fabricate you a sleeve so the metal doesn’t chafe. You can have her make up more, I just got this one, but you’ll probably want to change it out a lot and, like, obviously wash them regularly. Here,” he says, and reaches for Leonard’s arm.

 

Leonard starts to pull back automatically, but stops himself. _This is okay_ , he reminds himself. _You trust Raymond, remember_? He takes a deep breath and lets Raymond push up the arm of his sweater over his elbow. Raymond slips on the stretchy material. Leonard is pleased to note that it’s black—Raymond is clearly keeping in with Leonard’s aesthetic, and he appreciates it.

 

Raymond, once again, doesn’t seem to notice anything is amiss, and slides on the prosthesis. He presses a small button on the side, and it clamps down on Leonard’s arm.

 

“Any pinching?” Raymond asks.

 

Leonard lifts his arm, surprised at the lightness of the prosthetic. He’d expected it to be heavy, but it feels only slightly heavier than his remaining hand. Nothing pinches, though, and he shakes his head.

 

“Good! That’s good.” Raymond taps a bit more on his tablet. “Okay, we’re gonna do the quick-and-dirty guide here. I’m assuming you’re mainly gonna need grip and trigger finger, at least to start.” He glances around. “Here.” He picks up a curved bit of metal. “This can stand in for the handle of the cold gun, for gripping, and you can just mime pulling the trigger for now. We can work with the actual cold gun later.”

 

Raymond holds the piece of metal out, for Leonard to take. Leonard lifts his right arm, and rests the metal palm against the pipe. He takes a deep breath, and tries to close the prosthetic fingers around it.

 

Nothing happens.

 

“Hmm,” Raymond says, and goes back to poking at his tablet.

 

“What?” Leonard asks, annoyed.

 

“Just checking the connections. Making sure output and input are both working.” He’s still holding out the piece of metal, so Leonard refocuses and keeps trying to close the hand over the pipe. Nothing so much as twitches.

 

Raymond puts the tablet down. “Okay, the connections are solid, so maybe we’re starting too big. Let’s start smaller.” He grasps the hand and guides it down to rest, palm up, on the table. “Try to move your pointer finger.”

 

“Are we gonna start a _Kill Bill_ sequence?” Leonard mutters under his breath.

 

Raymond grins. “ _Wiggle your big toe_ ,” he quotes. “I mean,” he continues, “your pointer finger, but, you know, close enough.”

 

Leonard rolls his eyes to disguise the warm feeling bubbling up in his chest. Damn, he hates that he’s so easily swayed by Raymond’s excitement. Not that he prefers brooding, and it is helping to get him out of his head, but it’s a bit embarrassing. What started out as a little crush is blossoming, and Leonard would like it to _stop_ , especially since Raymond is _very taken_ by Kendra and therefore not even a little bit available.

 

Although, it’s just typical of Leonard to want something he shouldn’t. Unfortunately, in this case, getting what he wants is not as easy as breaking in and stealing it. He’s just going to have to suck it up and deal with it, like everyone else.

 

He doesn’t _like_ that.

 

The pointer finger twitches and he almost jumps.

 

“Good!” Raymond says. “Keep going!”

 

He’s about to, when Rip’s voice comes over the intercom. “We’re about to head to 2147. Gideon will fabricate appropriate attire for each of you. Please meet me in the cargo bay in twenty minutes. Except you, Miss Saunders, you will remain behind, as we discussed.”

 

Raymond stands up and stretches. “Guess we should pick up clothes in the fabrication room. I want you to keep working on that, but I guess you’ll have to do it on the go.” He walks out, and Leonard gets up to follow behind, the fingers of the prosthetic twitching as he works to move them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruth for being a lovely beta, as always <3


	3. Progeny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team lands in 2147. 
> 
> Leonard breaks.

Leonard gets to the fabrication room a half-step behind Raymond. He waits as Gideon fabricates Raymond’s outfit first—black pants, white shirt, dark gray blazer. Once the fabricator is finished with that, Leonard steps forward to claim his own.

 

It’s all a deep navy blue: pants, shirt, and a long coat instead of Raymond’s blazer. He pulls them from the machine with his left hand, draping them over his right arm.

 

“The pants secure with Velcro, Mr. Snart,” Gideon tells him, and Leonard feels his face turning red. Velcro, like he’s a child. “The shirt is also a pullover, and you should be able to button the coat easily with your left hand,” she continues. Leonard wants to throw up. He wants to run, but Raymond is standing in between him and the doorway, looking at him.

 

“I’ll just go change, then,” Leonard mutters, trying to shoulder past the larger man.

 

“You okay?” Raymond asks, holding out a hand to stop Leonard from getting past him.

 

“ _Fine_.”

 

Raymond shakes his head. “See, it doesn’t sound like you’re fine. Your whole face fell when Gideon mentioned the Velcro. Snart, you don’t have to be ashamed of needing things to be different for a while, to make things easier for you.”

 

“I can _handle it_ ,” Leonard snarls, and shoves Raymond’s arm out of his path.

 

He walks out the door as fast as he can without it looking like he’s running away, but not fast enough to miss Raymond’s muttered, “Never said you couldn’t.”

 

Leonard shoves that down and away. No time to dwell on Raymond’s words—he has to get dressed and head to the cargo bay. As soon as he gets into his room he tries to speed through getting changed, but he only ends up dropping everything on the ground.

 

After the third time he drops the kilt onto the floor trying to quickly put it back on the hanger, he wants to scream with frustration. This should be _easy_. This _was_ easy, the goddamn day before. Fuming about it probably isn’t helping, though, and he makes himself take deep breaths and slow down.

 

Meticulous. That’s what Leonard has always been, and he has to be even more so now. Slow, steady, focused. The prosthetic hand is still no use, he can barely get the fingers to move past a couple centimeters. It’s just a dead weight right now. Hopefully that will change, but it’s not of any use to him right now.

 

_Just focus on the task at hand, one step at a time, shirt over your head, pull your pants up, secure them shut and ignore the sound of Velcro, just shut up and accept the easy way out, shrug the coat over your shoulders, try not to fumble with the over-sized buttons, breathe, breathe, breathe_.

 

This time he does look in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, hands shoved in the deep coat pockets. He looks put-together, sharp, and nowhere near as shitty as he feels. He _does_ look decidedly cranky, though, but figures the team is used to that anyway.

 

Most of the team is already assembled and ready to head out of the ship when he gets to the cargo bay. Raymond gives him a little wave, which he studiously ignores. No need to hash out his little outburst back in the fabrication room. Better to forget it and move on.

 

Luckily Sara sidles up next to him before Raymond can come up to him and try to start a conversation. “Let me see it,” she says in a sing-song voice.

 

Leonard rolls his eyes, but takes the hand out of his pocket. “It’s not done,” he tells her.

 

She doesn’t respond, just runs her fingers along the skeletal outline of the prosthetic. The fingers twitch as she does and she looks up at him. “Do you feel that?”

 

He nods. “Yeah. Can feel things, just can’t get the damn fingers to move.”

 

Sara smiles ruefully at him. “You will.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, as Rip leads the way out the door into 2147.

 

Leonard stays at the back of the group, trying to wiggle the fingers of the prosthesis in his pocket without drawing too much attention to himself with it. He stops when he realizes that he’s only half-listening to Rip’s grand speech about the era, and he wants to listen, in case there’s anything relevant he can use later on the mission.

 

Whatever the mission is.

 

His attention is caught by the autonomous ATOM suits that fly up, and his eyes flick to Raymond to catch the look of pleased surprise on the other man’s face. A look that quickly turns to shock and horror as the suits attack a man who clearly just stole someone’s bag.

 

“Doesn’t look like progress to me,” Leonard drawls, trying to ignore the frustrated set of Raymond’s jaw. Trying for normalcy.

 

He tries for normalcy all the way through Rip needlessly dragging him and Sara to the shareholders meeting to find Savage, only to be turned away at the door.

 

“Back to the ship?” Sara asks, and Leonard nods. At least maybe now he’ll get some time and privacy to work on his connection with the prosthesis.

 

In theory.

 

In practice, Sara drags him onto the bridge and makes him _talk_ to her.

 

“Sara, I just want to work on making this fucking thing cooperate,” he snaps, as she actually physically _drags_ him by the arm down the hallways of the Waverider.

 

“You can work on it on the bridge,” she says, not letting him get away.

 

God, she’s annoying.

 

But he lets her pull him onto the bridge anyway. She’s not treating him like he’s made of glass, and that’s nice.

 

“How are you holding up?” she asks, without an ounce of pity in her tone. She’s all straightforward curiosity. Leonard remembers why he’s friends with her.

 

“I’ll live,” he responds. Just because they’re friends doesn’t mean he’s gonna spill his guts.

 

Sara rolls her eyes. “Okay, dumbass. Don’t talk about it. Why don’t you tell me what it’s like having Ray fawn over you, instead?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows at him suggestively.

 

Leonard groans. “He’s not fawning over me, he’s just building me a prosthetic hand. It’s not a big deal.”

 

“ _Sure_ it isn’t,” Sara teases, poking at the aforementioned hand. “He just worked four hours straight on it until Kendra showed up and made him get a few hours sleep and then immediately worked for another few hours on it the second he woke up. Kendra had to bring him food and make him eat. He’s _obsessed_.”

 

Damn. Leonard knew that Raymond had been working hard to get the prosthetic up and running quickly, and he does know how Raymond falls into projects but, still…it’s nice to hear that Raymond is focusing so much time and energy on something that he really has no stake in. Yeah, he might enjoy making the tech as much as he likes making anything, but at the end of the day, it’s not really relevant to him or his life.

 

Sara whacks Leonard on the arm. “You are _so_ smitten.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“You _are_.”

 

“I’m leaving.” He stands up to walk out, but Sara grabs him and shoves him back down in the chair. Fuck, she’s strong. He’s used to her touching him by now, even if he still gets annoyed when her ridiculous strength leaves bruises.

 

“Absolutely not,” she says, cackling.

 

Someone clears their throat from the doorway and Leonard looks up to see Raymond, looking a bit sheepish. “Am I interrupting something?” he asks and, _oh no_ , does he think there’s something going on between Leonard and Sara?

 

“Not even a little bit,” Leonard answers, quickly.

 

“ _Nope_ ,” Sara says emphatically, and Leonard is grateful.

 

“Okay…” Raymond doesn’t sound like he believes either of them, but he walks the rest of the way onto the bridge anyway. “Anyway, Professor Stein and Jax and I found where my suits are being manufactured, but Rip told us to hold off going to check it out until after we regroup, so I have some downtime. Want me to keep working on your hand, Snart?”

 

“Oh, sure,” Leonard says, looking down at the hand. “Uh, how do I get it off?”

 

“Right!” Raymond says. “Of course, that would help!” He walks over to Leonard and holds out his hand, clearly intending for Leonard to place the prosthetic hand into it. Leonard does, slowly. “There’s a small release on the inside…” Raymond reaches for Leonard’s arm, wiggling a finger underneath the metal clamped against the underside of Leonard’s arm. “Hold it for three seconds and—ah!”

 

The prosthesis loosens, and Raymond slides it gently off Leonard’s forearm. Leonard tries not to lean forward, to follow Raymond’s soft touch.

 

“Okay, well, I don’t need you for this part,” Raymond says, standing up with the hand clutched lightly in his grip. “You can get back to, uh, whatever it is you were doing.” He waves, with the hand that’s holding the prosthesis, and walks back out.

 

The second he’s gone, Sara dissolves into giggles. “He thinks we’re flirting,” she says, through her laughter.

 

“Yes, _hilarious_ ,” Leonard says, rolling his eyes.

 

“Oh, come on,” Sara prods, still giggling, “admit it, it’s _funny_.”

 

Okay, it is a little funny. Leonard and Sara may be friends, but they’re just so different. They get along on sarcastic comments and talking _around_ their feelings, not about them. The two of them in a relationship would be _awful_. Not to mention their difference in age—over ten years—and the fact that Sara prefers women, and Leonard prefers men.

 

Leonard gives her a bit of a smile, and is greeted with a grin.

 

“There we go, I _knew_ you still knew how to smile,” Sara says, proud of herself.

 

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Leonard admits. He knows what she’s doing, she’s trying to make him feel _normal_. Like nothing’s changed. And it’s working, just a bit.

 

Except, shit, that’s a bad path to go down, because nothing’s normal. Leonard swallows around the sudden lump in his throat.

 

“Hey, Snart, what’s up?” Sara asks, concern finally creeping into her voice.

 

He shakes his head at her. Not interested in thinking about it, let alone talking about it.

 

“Hey, asshole, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

 

“I don’t need your help,” Leonard spits out, harsher than he’d meant to.

 

Sara bristles. She seems about to snap back when Rip walks in, Kendra in tow. She takes a deep breath and mutters, “You’re not getting a free pass on this one, Snart. We’re gonna have this conversation later, and you’re gonna talk to me.” Then she gets up, and follows as Rip gestures for them to walk up the stairs and into his office.

 

* * *

 

The team doesn’t seem to take too kindly to Leonard’s suggestion of murder in regards to their Per Degaton _problem_ , and even less so when the final three team members join them on the bridge. Leonard doesn’t much care, just sits in the chair with the prosthetic hand resting on his knee, palm facing up. He’s half paying attention, half trying to focus on moving the goddamn fingers of the hand.

 

He still manages to make sarcastic comments, though; he’s always been good at multi-tasking.

 

At least he’s got the fingers moving, even if it’s giving him a headache, and they don’t move _much_. He’s focusing mostly on the pointer finger, but it’s still not working well enough for him to be able to handle the delicate trigger of the cold gun. Raymond didn’t have much time to do much more work on it before handing it back over, not that the aesthetic work he was doing would have made using the hand any easier.

 

There’s still not enough time to dwell on it, because Rip needs him to go into planning mode and stage a kidnapping. At least planning gets him out of his head, _and_ he gets to try on the cool tech glasses that he managed to swipe off an unsuspecting passer-by—with his left hand, just to make sure he still could.

 

The plan goes off without a hitch, even if Leonard has to hold and shoot the cold gun with his left hand, with the prosthetic hand bracing it and helping aim it properly. Go team kidnapping.

 

Unfortunately, the plan going perfectly means his job is done, and he’s left with nothing to do to keep him occupied. Not even going back to his room and slowly changing back into his normal jeans, sweater, and jacket can keep him occupied for long enough, even as he struggles with the zipper and button on his skinny jeans.

 

This is…not good.

 

Maybe…maybe Raymond is done with team robot army. Maybe he’s back from seeing how the autonomous ATOM suits are made, and he’s back in his lab figuring out how to stop them. That will at least give Leonard something to drown out the buzzing in his brain, the black hole that’s just waiting to suck him in.

 

No such luck. The lab is empty. Leonard stands in the doorway and tries to figure out where to go from here.

 

Sara’s busy with Rip and the kid in the med bay, so she’s out, too.

 

Jax is…Leonard doesn’t want to go to Jax, in the same way he wouldn’t want to go to Lisa with this. Jax shouldn’t have to shoulder a burden like this, Leonard doesn’t want that for him.

 

And Mick. Mick’s in the brig. Leonard knows he should go, talk to Mick, say something. _Anything_.

 

He really, really should.

 

But his feet won’t move, they won’t take him to the brig.

 

_This is all your fault_. Shit, the voice in his mind sounds like Lewis, and he shakes his head to clear it. _None of this would be happening if you hadn’t betrayed your best friend_.

 

Shit, shit, shit.

 

Leonard sits down heavily on the bench on one side of the lab table. He tries to put his head in his hands, but the prosthesis—even at almost the same temperature as his skin—is still metal, is still not a part of him. He sticks his finger inside it, like Raymond had done earlier, and holds down the button, releasing it and letting the hand fall onto the metal table with a clank. He reaches around his head and claws at the neural network device, untucking it from behind his ear and dropping it down on the table as well.

 

He feels a little lighter without them, but now he actually has to look at the stump where his hand used to be. Well, he _could_ look away. Theoretically.

 

God, he’d been so numb before, so exhausted and weary and in shock. He’d thought it had hit him but…

 

His breathing turns choppy, his heart starts pounding in his chest and he tries to push it down again, tries to hold it off for just a little longer, and a little longer after that, in the hopes that maybe if he holds it off long enough it won’t happen.

 

It’s happening, though, and it’s happening _now_.

 

At least he’s alone in the lab, for the moment.

 

Leonard’s never been good at emotions, never been good at pulling apart the feelings he’s having and giving them names. He can tell what anger feels like, mostly. Past that? He can’t give names to the hollowed out feeling in his chest, the churning of his stomach, the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

 

His entire body feels like it’s vibrating, like he’s going to shake himself apart if he doesn’t just let go.

 

_Let go_.

 

No.

 

_Let go._

 

Fuck you.

 

_Let. Go_.

 

Go. To. Hell.

 

“Snart?”

 

Fuck.

 

Raymond is in the doorway, and Leonard’s eyes must be bright red. He knows they’re watery, just like he knows he’s visibly shaking.

 

“Hey, uh, Rip just took Per Degaton in the jump ship. We can’t find where they went.”

 

Leonard doesn’t respond, can’t respond. Doesn’t care right now. Rip can kill the kid for all the fucks he gives.

 

“You okay?” Raymond asks, and Leonard can hear him walking forward, closer to the table, to the bench where Leonard is sitting.

 

He needs to say something, and fast, but he doesn’t trust his voice. He nods, instead, a quick jerk of his head. A hand lands on his shoulder and he twitches, enough that Raymond _has_ to have noticed.

 

“Snart?” Raymond asks again.

 

Leonard clears his throat, wipes at his eyes in a way that he hopes is surreptitious. He cocks his head slightly to the side, so he can look at Raymond out of the corner of his eye, but he’s still mostly in profile.

 

“I’m fine,” he says.

 

Annoyingly, Raymond goes around to sit at the other side of the table, where he can get a full view of the probably miserable expression on Leonard’s face. Leonard bites the inside of his cheek and wills his eyes to stop itching.

 

“Contacts in my eyes for too long,” Leonard lies, and rubs at his left eye to drive the point home.

 

“You wear contacts?” Raymond asks, and then shakes his head. “Not the point.” He leans forward over the table to look closer at Leonard. “Look, I know we’re not, like, close or anything, but you’ve been through a lot the past few days, and if you need to talk to anyone—”

 

“Talking isn’t really my _thing_ , Raymond,” Leonard says, cutting him off.

 

“I know.” Raymond smiles ruefully. “I get that. I am really good at listening, though, just so you know.”

 

Fucking hell, Leonard can’t deal with this right now. He’s shaking like a leaf and Raymond is looking at him with those big, warm eyes, and Leonard’s gonna burst into tears, he’s gonna, right this second, and he hasn’t cried since he was six and—

 

“I gotta go,” Leonard forces out, and runs, leaving the prosthesis behind. He makes it to the cargo bay before he collapses on the floor, against a large crate.

 

He buries his face in his knees and tries to muffle the awful noises forcing their way up his throat. Fuck fuck fuck fuck! He hates this, he hates being weak, and this is _weakness_ and he just wants it to _stop_. This is all too much, he’s buried in self-loathing and regret and _pain_.

 

Bone-deep, aching _pain_. His stump throbs with every shudder that goes through his body. His contacts actually _are_ hurting now, as the tears he can’t keep in drain all the rest of the moisture from his eyes. And his heart—his heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, folding painfully in and in.

 

This is what happens when you let yourself thaw, even a little bit. When you let yourself be _weak_ , when you let people in, people who haven’t stood by you through the bad times, people who think you can be _good_. If you crack the wall, if you start to drop your guard.

 

Leonard cracked. He caved. He started to thaw. And this is what he gets. This is what he deserves, for thinking he could be anything other than ice, anything other than the broken, cold, harsh criminal he’s always been. He tries to be good once, just fucking once, and everything around him shatters.

 

Everything in him has shattered. He can feel it all, pieces clicking together as he vibrates with choked off and stifled sobs.

 

He tries to breathe through it, even though his breath quavers with every exhale. He tries to calm down, to stop shaking, to stop _being so fucking weak_. It takes longer than he’d like—well, any amount of time breaking down is longer than he’d like—but he’s finally able to swallow his sobs, to stem his tears. He’s still shaking, still feels weak and drained, but he can catch his breath again.

 

Leonard really should go back out into the ship, apologize to Raymond, make up some bullshit about nausea or something, but his legs once again won’t move. They won’t take him where he should go, so he just sits and tries not to wallow.

 

Easier said than done. He needs a distraction, he needs—there. A rubber ball, left over from someone goofing around in the cargo bay at some point in the past. _Perfect_.

 

He leans forward and grabs it, tossing it up and down in his left hand. If he can’t muster the energy or willpower to get up, he can at least do something productive—and something to get his mind off his loss of control. He’s got to regain that sense of control, over something.

 

There are too many threads that have gotten loose, and he needs to rein them all back in. That can start with his hands. He’s always been somewhat close to ambidextrous, but now he needs to make his left hand as deft as his right used to be, especially if he can’t master the prosthesis quickly and easily, which is looking more and more likely.

 

He’s been throwing the ball for a few minutes—tossing it in the air, bouncing it against crates—when he hears Sara’s footsteps approach. Of course, she knows where to find him.

 

“No luck finding our homicidal captain?” Leonard asks, trying to avoid any prying questions about what he’s doing on the floor of the cargo bay, alone, throwing a bouncy ball up and down.

 

“Gideon’s still searching,” Sara says, walking in and leaning back against the crate in front of Leonard, “but I have a feeling Rip’s not gonna be found if he doesn’t want to be.” She props her elbows up on the crate and looks at him.

 

Leonard narrows his eyes at her—hopefully they’ll look less red that way—and continues to preemptively deflect any discussion about _feelings_. “So what are you doing down _here_?”

 

Sara looks at him like she’s a cat and he’s her new favorite toy. A look he’s probably worn many times in the past but, wow, he hates it used against him. “Don’t you think you at least _owe_ him a conversation?”

 

Fuck. She must have tried to talk to Mick. It seems like the whole team tried it, at various points. Leonard has just avoided it—avoided _him_ at all costs. “We had our conversation while he was Chronos,” Leonard tells her, “and he made his feelings about me _very clear_.”

 

“And what about your feelings?” Sara asks. She sounds annoyed now, like he’s a willful child she needs to discipline. God, Leonard hates her sometimes.

 

“About you?” he asks, because he’s an asshole, and he knows it’s gonna piss her off.

 

She gives him a very fake smile in return. “About Mick.” The ‘you asshole’ is left unspoken, but Leonard hears it all the same.

 

“I don’t have any feelings about Mick,” Leonard lies, like he wasn’t just having a fucking meltdown over what he did to Mick, about what Mick did to him. About what he had to do, to escape the handcuffs Mick left him in. She’s gonna know he’s lying, so he looks away. If she’s gonna figure it out anyway, no use meeting her eyes while he lies to her face.

 

Sara sighs and crouches down to the ground, to catch his eye again. “Look, it didn’t seem that way when we were dying in the engine room of hypothermia.”

 

Oh, great, thanks, Sara, bring up another fucking moment of weakness, that _helps_. “Look, if you want to ease your guilty conscience, that’s your business, but he’s still the same son of a bitch he was when _you all_ wanted me to put him down.”

 

“I wasn’t the one who mentioned _marooning_ Rory. You did. It’s obviously still weighing on your conscience.”

 

Leonard would really like Sara to shut the fuck up right now. This is not the time to have this conversation, not when he’s still so raw, so wrecked. He just glares at her, and knows it’s a weak, pathetic response.

 

“So stop being an ass,” Sara continues, standing up, “and go deal with it.”

 

She stomps out, and Leonard is glad to see her go. He’s not gonna do what she says, right?

 

He bounces the ball against the crate Sara had just vacated, but it hits at a weird angle and bounces away, rolling between various boxes and discarded tech. So much for that distraction.

 

Someone has to do something, though, and…and what does he have to lose, honestly? A half-formed thought bubbles up. He and Mick don’t _talk_ about their feelings. They work it out by fighting. Each other, or other people. The thing is…Leonard can’t beat Mick in a fistfight. He’s never been able to.

 

Leonard is strong, agile, and fast, but Mick is a brick wall. He can take twice the beating Leonard can, and dole it out even harder.

 

But nothing’s going to get accomplished with words here.

 

Nothing.

 

Leonard’s half off the floor when the ship gives a sudden shudder. Shit, they’re under attack. He heads to the bridge at a dead run, tossing aside his thoughts of Mick to deal with later.

 

He runs into Raymond in the hallway outside of the bridge, and tries to keep going but Raymond grabs his arm, slipping on the prosthesis and locking it into place. “You’ll need these,” he says, leaning forward to slip the neural network device behind Leonard’s ear. He gives Leonard a small smile before stepping the rest of the way onto the bridge.

 

Leonard files that feeling away for later, when he can focus on the brush of Raymond’s hands on his skin, and the warmth of his eyes.

 

The autonomous ATOM suits have already knocked out their weapons systems, so it’s boots on the ground. Leonard takes off for his room, where the cold gun is still on the desk. The fingers of the prosthetic hand are twitching, and he tries to control the movements as he goes.

 

No luck.

 

At least he can curl the fingers around the handle of the cold gun, and tuck it into the holder that he hastily fumbles on. The trigger finger of the prosthesis still isn’t sensitive enough to properly work the cold gun, so he’s probably stuck with using his left hand to shoot, and the prosthetic hand to help aim.

 

Not exactly helpful as he rushes out to join the battle. His aim is _off_.

 

A grenade rolls up to him, and he clenches down on the handle of the cold gun with the prosthesis, grabbing the grenade in his left hand and throwing it back to them, a few seconds before it explodes. That was _close_.

 

His aim is off, his timing is off, and he gets more and more frustrated as he just barely manages to be any sort of help on the battlefield. Everything is going wrong, and Leonard _can’t fix it_.

 

All he can do is try to hold the line, to just _hold on_ until Raymond and Kendra can get the robots shut down. Leonard _hates_ the damn things, and he can only imagine how Raymond must feel, to have his own tech used against him like this, to be knocked hundreds of feet out of the sky by his own creations. It makes Leonard clench his jaw, to fight against something that looks like his teammate, to fight something that’s as much a creation of Raymond as the hand attached to his right forearm.

 

And the robots are winning. Of course they are, they’re Raymond’s design.

 

The robots are winning, until they drop out of the sky, all at once.

 

“Looks like Raymond was able to sabotage his robot army!” Leonard calls above the noise and chaos.

 

“Which means mopping up the rest of these guys shouldn’t be a problem,” Jax boasts, powered down for a brief second. He powers back up when they hear Savage’s voice, and Leonard gets into a defensive stance, gun pointed up.

 

“Oh, it will be a problem.”

 

Shit. Savage has Sara, a knife to her throat. She looks _pissed_ , but not scared, never scared. She’s probably mostly annoyed that she let herself be caught up like this.

 

“What do you want?” Leonard shouts, figuring out if he can aim well enough to hit Savage and not Sara. He used to be able to. Now? He’s not sure he can risk it.

 

“I want to exchange this woman’s life for your captain, Rip Hunter,” Savage replies.

 

Leonard can see Sara fuming, and he can relate. If only the goddamn prosthesis would stop _twitching_ and let him release a delicate, focused beam, he could hit Savage and Sara could get away and continue kicking his ass.

 

“I have a better idea,” a familiar English voice calls from behind Leonard. He turns to see Rip, walking the kid in front of him, his gun out and pointed at the kid’s head. “Her life in exchange for his.”

 

Rip bargains for safe passage, but Leonard honestly stops listening. He was completely fucking useless out here and he just…he just needs to go punch something.

 

Savage releases Sara, and Rip releases the kid, and they cross the field, returning to their respective sides.

 

“Better find yourself a new mentor, kid,” Leonard quips, not that it’ll do anything. Giving advice may be all he can do, anymore. Too bad all his advice sucks.

 

Leonard stalks back onto the ship, trailing behind Sara initially. He pauses, though, as he passes the lab. If he’s gonna do this…

 

He looks down at the prosthesis, and flexes the fingers. They close almost all the way, almost a fist. It’ll do. He pulls the cold gun out of the holster and lays it on the desk. He’ll be back for it, maybe. If not, well, Raymond can pull it apart, like he keeps asking Leonard if he can.

 

His feet carry him to the brig this time. As he walks in and around to the front of the glass cage, he feels Mick’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t turn to look at Mick until he’s directly in front of the doors. Leonard crosses his arms over his chest, hiding the metal hand under his arm. Not for an advantage—just because he doesn’t want Mick to think he’s asking for pity.

 

They look at each other for a few seconds. Leonard feels cold, numb. This is a terrible idea, but he’s never been one for picking the better option anyway.

 

“What do you want?” Mick asks, not breaking eye contact.

 

“People seem to think we should have a heart-to-heart,” Leonard answers, not missing a beat.

 

“We don’t have hearts,” Mick says, and Leonard wishes that were actually true. “Where does that leave us?”

 

Nowhere. “I’ve got a dozen reasons for killing you,” Leonard says. _Don’t be weak, don’t be weak, don’t_ — “You’ve got a dozen and one for killing me so—”

 

“All the talk in the world is not gonna change a thing.”

 

It’s always been like this, bouncing off each other. They’re in each other’s head half the time—or, they were. They’ve fallen out of sync, lately, and it feels jarring to be back in sync when Mick just wants to kill him, and Leonard just wants to let him do it.

 

“Exactly. Here’s my proposal: I open this cell, we let our fists do the talking.” Well, Leonard’s one-and-a-half fists against Mick’s two.

 

Mick stands up and walks over to the door, his curiosity clearly piqued. Leonard doesn’t twitch, doesn’t look away, just stands firm. He’s _ice_ , he’s _steady_ , he’s _cold_.

 

“When I kill you…” Mick starts, because Leonard’s never beat him in a fight, he knows this, they both know this.

 

“You take the jump ship, make your escape, live out the rest of your life anywhere you like.” _Don’t kill the team_ , Leonard pleads silently. _Not after I went through all this for them. Not Sara, not Jax, not…Raymond. Just go._ He hopes it sounds convincing enough, the promise of a new life.

 

Mick considers it. “And if you kill me, well, it’s better than being locked up in this place like some kind of _circus freak_.”

 

There it is. “I take that as a yes.”

 

“Sound the bell,” Mick says, with the fire that Leonard knows so well blazing in his eyes.

 

Leonard uncrosses his arms, letting his right hang down by his side, out of sight still, and runs his left palm along the opening mechanism. The doors slide open and he steps inside, letting them slide quietly closed behind him.

 

Mick gets the first punch in, a straight shot to the head, and Leonard feels the neural network device pop loose and skitter off into the corner of the cell. So much for the fucking hand. Leonard swings with it anyway, wide and wild, missing Mick entirely. Mick effortlessly pushes his arm away and punches him in the face again.

 

This isn’t gonna take long and, honestly, Leonard is grateful.

 

He swings again with his right arm, the metal making a satisfying crunch as it connects with Mick’s cheekbone, but Mick barely staggers. A brick fucking wall.

 

One punch, then another, and Leonard falls, hitting the ground hard. He curls up, trying to stand, trying to at least make an effort, but Mick grabs the back of his jacket and flips him over, pinning him to the ground with one hand.

 

This is it. Leonard can’t even muster the energy to care. Mick’s looming over him with fire in his eyes, and Leonard is numb.

 

He supposes he should feel _something_. Regret, his life flashing before his eyes. A wish that maybe he should have done things differently, should have said something, should have at least tried to kiss Raymond before… _this_. He doesn’t. He felt all that shit earlier. Now he’s just ice.

 

Mick…Mick hesitates.

 

He hesitates, and then he lets go, falls off Leonard, sitting down heavily on the floor.

 

“We had a deal, Mick,” Leonard says, because, fuck, what is he supposed to do with _this_? “Kill me and you walk.” What the fuck is Mick even doing? Why won’t he just _finish it_? “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To get off the team?”

 

Mick half-curls in on himself, Leonard can see him out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” he mutters. Well, that makes two of them. “Truth is, it doesn’t matter.”

 

Leonard’s hips are starting to ache with the position he’s lying in, one leg bent up underneath him, so Mick’s words take a second to sink in. “What are you talking about?” he asks, when they finally do.

 

“Whether I stay or leave, I’m dead. We’re all dead.” Mick shakes his head and gets up, reaching out a hand for Leonard to take.

 

“So that’s it?” Leonard groans, ignoring Mick’s hand. He pushes himself up with his elbows first, then braces himself on his left palm as he swings his right leg out. Everything _hurts_.

 

Everything hurts, but he can breathe. He can breathe again. He looks over at Mick, sees that the fire is gone from his friend’s eyes. He doesn’t feel numb anymore, either. He feels like the clouds are clearing, just a bit. He cocks his head and immediately winces as the motion pulls against sore muscles.

 

“We’re just… _good_ , now?” Leonard continues.

 

Mick shrugs. “Guess so.” His eyes fall to Leonard’s lap, where the prosthetic hand is resting. “Gideon can’t regrow limbs?” he asks.

 

“ _Nope_ ,” Leonard answers, and gathers his feet under him to stand. He’s unsteady and, fuck, everything aches, but he stands. He hobbles over to the corner where the neural network device ended up, and reaches around his head to clip it back over his ear. When he tries to move the fingers, though, nothing happens. Fried. _Great_.

 

“Sucks,” Mick says, and Leonard snorts. That’s about as close to an apology as he’s gonna get but, seeing how he’s still alive, he guesses he’ll take it. “The Hunters are after me,” Mick continues, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 

“The _what_?” Leonard asks.

 

“I should, uh, tell the team together,” Mick mutters.

 

“The _team?!_ ” Leonard half-shouts, incredulous. The _fucking team_? Seriously? After all that bullshit, suddenly it’s ‘the team’ again.

 

“Might as well pick the side that’s least likely to kill me,” Mick says. It makes a certain kind of sense, but Leonard still wants to scream.

 

“You _bastard_ ,” Leonard spits out, but swipes open the door of the cage and stalks to the bridge, Mick following along behind him.

 

As expected, as he walks onto the bridge with Mick in tow, there’s a loud commotion, which Leonard silences by holding up his hand. “We’re _good_ ,” he says, and the team falls quiet. “ _Mick_ has something he’d like to share with the class.”

 

Mick walks forward, standing at the bottom of the stairs to Rip’s office, and the team, circled around the center console, focus their attention on him. Leonard, out of the spotlight, retreats to the edge of the room. No need for the team to say anything about the blossoming color on his face.

 

“Since I failed to bring you in, the Time Masters wanna bring me in, and this time, they’re not gonna take any chances,” Mick explains. “They’re called the Hunters, mercenaries, and unlike me, there isn’t a human part left in them.”

 

“So they want to lock us all up in the Vanishing Point?” Raymond asks.

 

Mick shakes his head. “The Hunters do one thing: kill, whenever, wherever, and they’ll stop at nothing until every single one of us is erased from the face of history.”

 

Well, that’s fun.

 

Mick’s never been much for long speeches, and Leonard is unsurprised that he turns away and moves to walk out. Probably to head to the kitchen, raid the cabinets.

 

“Do you have any suggestions as to how we might outsmart them, Mr. Rory?” Rip asks.

 

Mick pauses. “Run,” he says, and walks out.

 

Fucking drama queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to my lovely beta, Ruth <3


	4. Interlude #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team has a few hours to kill while Rip decides where to take them next, to hide from the Hunters. 
> 
> Leonard has a few uncomfortable conversations, a nap, and spends some more time in the med bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again I had planned an episode companion with just a bit of extra stuff, to fill in the gaps between episodes. Yet again, I wrote over 5k. Here's another interlude, between Progeny and Magnificent Eight.

“Well that’s helpful,” Rip mutters, half to himself. “Right,” he continues, addressing the team now, “Gideon and I will figure out the best course of action in terms of Mr. Rory’s, uh, _advice_. _My_ advice to all of you is: take a few hours, get some rest, _please_ have a shower, and I will let you know the plan when I figure it out.”

 

“You need help planning?” Sara asks, leaning across the center console.

 

“No, Miss Lance, I should be alright. You should get some rest as well,” Rip replies.

 

The rest of the team mutters vague agreements and all wander off to most likely do what Rip suggested.

 

Leonard waits until they’ve mostly filed out before heading out himself. He avoids Sara’s searching gaze and heads back to the lab to collect his cold gun before Raymond notices that it’s there.

 

Too late.

 

He walks into the lab to see Raymond running his fingers along the outline of the cold gun. _Not_ ideal, but he can lie his way out of this.

 

Raymond’s eyes flick up as he enters. “Snart,” he says, in greeting.

 

Leonard nods in return. He’s not going to volunteer anything unless Raymond asks. He walks over to the table and holds out his left hand for the gun, since the prosthesis still isn’t functional.

 

Instead of handing it over, Raymond just stares at Leonard, his eyes roving over Leonard’s face—no doubt cataloging all the lovely bruises shining there. “Did you really pick a fight with _Mick Rory_ and expect to walk out alive?”

 

Leonard feels his face drop. Not that his expression was cheery before but, shit, that’s too close for comfort. His mind goes blank—except for one word that keeps bubbling up: ‘no.’ No, he didn’t expect to walk out alive. But _Raymond_ doesn’t need to know that.

 

“Oh.” Raymond’s eyes widen as Leonard flounders with what to say. “You…you didn’t. You didn’t expect to walk out alive.”

 

Shit. Leonard needs to deflect, _needs_ to lie, needs Raymond to _stop looking at him like that_. Not with pity, with _understanding_. “I did what I had to do,” he says, instead, looking down at the gun, still underneath Raymond’s large hands. Why _understanding_ , though? Raymond is annoyingly perky, frustratingly cheery, stupidly optimistic.

 

Right?

 

“You wanna talk about it?” Raymond asks, in a soft, low voice.

 

No. “Nothing to talk about,” Leonard says, but he still can’t meet Raymond’s eyes. “Can I have the cold gun back?”

 

“If you tell me why you left it here,” Raymond retorts.

 

Oh, shit. “Needed someplace safe to stash it.”

 

“Liar.”

 

Leonard glances up, briefly. Raymond doesn’t look upset, or angry, or even sad. He just looks curious, steady. Warm. Leonard has to look away.

 

Fucking hell, Raymond is always so goddamn _warm_. And he’s not giving up the cold gun. Leonard could, in theory, just grab it and walk away. But, fuck, he’s tired. Everything hurts. Leonard sighs and sits down heavily at the table, across from Raymond. He releases the prosthetic hand, places it gently on the table, follows it with the now-useless neural network device.

 

“Snart?” Raymond prods, and Leonard makes the mistake of looking back up to meet his eyes. And this time, he can’t look away.

 

God, Leonard would do anything Raymond asked of him, if only he’d just keep looking at Leonard like that. It reminds Leonard of his own intense gaze that people like to shy away from, but not quite as…icy. It’s the hyper-focus, the world dropping away, like there’s nothing there but the two of them.

 

“Okay,” Leonard says, the drawl bleeding out of his voice. Fuck, he’s weak. He’s sure he’d be hearing Lewis’ voice in his head right now, only if it wasn’t being drowned out by the deep brown of Raymond’s eyes. “Wasn’t sure I’d be back for it.” He should look away, he should, he really should.

 

He doesn’t.

 

Raymond’s eyes soften even more—Leonard wonders how that’s even _possible_ —and he reaches out a hand to lay it over Leonard’s remaining hand. “I’m glad you are.” He flashes Leonard a quick half smile. “But,” he continues, the smile falling off his face, “why did you do it?”

 

Leonard shrugs, gathering his thoughts. It’s hard to think clearly, with Raymond’s hand resting on top of his, but he manages to form somewhat coherent words…he hopes. “I caused this. Only right that I fix it.”

 

“There were other ways, Snart,” Raymond insists, but Leonard shakes his head.

 

“Can’t get through to Mick with words. You gotta make your actions count. So I made mine count.” Leonard should look away. He still doesn’t.

 

“And what would dying have accomplished?” Raymond asks, softly.

 

Too much. Not enough. Leonard finally looks away. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

 

He expects…he’s not sure what he expects, but it’s not for Raymond to sigh, lean back—unfortunately removing his hand from Leonard’s—and say, “Yeah, I get you.”

 

Oh, that’s alarming. Leonard is a solid mess of PTSD, self-loathing, and bad decisions. Bright, sunny Ray Palmer should _not_ understand that…that desire to just give up. Warm, happy Ray Palmer should—well, he should stay that way. He should stay in the _light_.

 

If he’s…if he’s just as _broken_ as Leonard, then maybe—no. Leonard can’t hope for anything. Anyway, Raymond is with Kendra. _That_ hasn’t changed.

 

“Still,” Raymond continues, like he didn’t just drop a fucking bomb, “I’m glad you came out the other side. It’d be a big hit for the team, losing you.”

 

For the team? Leonard tries not to be too disappointed that Raymond didn’t say it would be a big hit for _him_. After all, they’re not close, why would it matter to him if Leonard lives or dies? “Even with only one hand?” Leonard can’t stop himself from asking. He looks back up to catch Raymond’s reaction.

 

Raymond nods. “I mean, the cold gun is _helpful_ , but your strategic mind is, I think, your biggest contribution to the team. Like, you’re great in the field, don’t get me wrong, I’m not discounting that. But, you walk into a room and you see all the angles. You catch things even _I_ miss, and I’m a genius. You’ve definitely improved a good number of Rip’s plans, just by making sarcastic comments, and I heard your plan to get to Per Degaton went off without a hitch, too. Not to mention you getting us out of the gulag in Russia.”

 

Leonard’s mood starts going up as Raymond talks, right until Raymond mentions Russia. Then his gut twists and he feels a pang of guilt at almost leaving Raymond behind, with just his suit to protect him against a nuclear blast. He shakes his head and the words spill out of his mouth: “I was gonna leave you behind, in Russia.”

 

“I know,” Raymond says, shrugging. “You trusted me to get myself out. Not your fault I was too beat-up to do it. Carrying me out jeopardized your plan—it was too visible. If I could get myself into the suit and out, then we could all have gotten out without any suspicion. It was a solid plan.”

 

“It almost got you killed,” Leonard retorts. He’s not sure why he’s arguing _against_ himself, here. Well, he could actually think of a few reasons, none of them very good.

 

“A lot of things have almost gotten me killed, Snart. I don’t blame myself for any of them, why would I blame you for this one?” Raymond looks so earnest, so sincere and Leonard falls silent.

 

It’s quiet, between them, for a moment. They both just look at each other. Leonard knows he’s trying to figure Raymond out, and he’s wondering if the other man is doing the same to him. Seems like they’re both hiding beneath various types of walls. Leonard’s walls are just a bit more obvious, a bit more typical. But if Raymond’s sunshine personality is a mask, then Leonard wants to peel that back and see what’s beneath the surface.

 

Now even more than he ever did before.

 

Raymond looks away first, his eyes falling on the prosthesis. “So,” he says, clearing his throat, “how did it, uh, hold up? In the fight?”

 

“ _Badly_ ,” Leonard mutters. Raymond’s face falls and he clarifies, “Mick knocked the neural network device off, first thing. After that, there was nothing I could do but use it as a blunt object. Not the worst thing, but not very helpful, either.”

 

“Okay, well, looks like my next project is getting the neural network implant ready for you, so that doesn’t happen again.” Raymond looks down at the table and starts shuffling things around. Leonard can’t make sense of what’s there, it’s just piles of scrap metal and tools, but Raymond seems to have a use for everything. “You should get some sleep,” Raymond mutters, scribbling down notes on his tablet. “This will take a few hours.”

 

“Shouldn’t you sleep?” Leonard asks. “I heard Kendra dragged you out of the lab to catch a few hours earlier, I’m assuming she’s gonna want to do the same today.”

 

Raymond shrugs. “Probably. But I can sleep later—I don’t need much, anyway. I’ll get this done and get some sleep, and then I’ll implant it when we’re both awake and rested and ready to head to wherever Rip and Gideon decide we’re going.”

 

That sounds reasonable, and Leonard nods. “Okay.” He stands up to leave, sliding the cold gun across the table towards him and reaching around with his left hand to click it into the holster. Before he turns to walk out, though— “Raymond?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, Snart?”

 

Leonard clears his throat. “Can we, uh…can we keep this between us?” He’d rather the team not know how close he came to dying today—and how little he cared about how close it was.

 

“Which part?” Raymond asks.

 

“All of it,” Leonard says. “I mean, obviously not the, like, you making me things part, that’s obviously common knowledge but, what we talked about. What I said.”

 

Raymond nods. “Of course. I wasn’t going to, anyway, but I definitely won’t now.”

 

“Thanks.” Leonard walks out, heart beating fast. He definitely said way too much, drawn in by those fucking puppy dog eyes. It’s probably a good thing that nothing ever happened between the two of them—if Leonard is already this weak for Raymond with only a few casual touches and soft glances, he can only imagine the weakness Raymond would be for him if they actually got together.

 

It’s not like Leonard really knows how _dating_ works, anyway. Relationships aren’t easy in the criminal world, _especially_ if you’re queer. Leonard’s had a few—short-lived and ill-advised—flings, but nothing at all like what Raymond and Kendra have.

 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by Gideon, saying his name.

 

“Yeah?” he responds. He’s never sure where to look when Gideon talks to him, and he usually ends up focusing somewhere near the ceiling, even though he knows she’s not _there_. She _is_ the ship, so it doesn’t matter where he looks but, still, it’s weird.

 

“If you’ll make your way to the fabrication room before heading to your quarters, I’ve fabricated a few things you may find useful,” she says.

 

He nods and does as she says, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. What new things has she devised to make him feel like a child? He won’t deny it; the Velcro pants were a lot easier to get on and off than his current skinny jeans, but he just didn’t feel _right_ in them.

 

When he gets to the fabrication room, he finds Sara there, picking through a selection of plastic bottles with pump mechanisms on top. As he steps in, she holds one up, smirking. “Gideon said she was going to replicate all the bottles and tubes and stuff you had in your room, why am I not surprised that _lube_ is one of them?”

 

Leonard groans. “Oh, yeah, great, give Sara _more_ ammunition. _Thanks_ , Gideon.”

 

“You are very welcome Mr. Snart,” Gideon replies, deadpan.

 

Sara snickers. “Looks like she doesn’t pick up on sarcasm.”

 

“Oh, I do,” Gideon replies, and Sara’s eyes widen. “I just choose to ignore it.”

 

Leonard shivers. He’s seen too many sci-fi movies with rogue AIs to not be slightly creeped out when Gideon does things like that.

 

Sara starts gathering up bottles in her arms, and Leonard recognizes shampoo, toothpaste, soap, and various face washes and creams, as well as the aforementioned lube. “Gideon wanted me to help you carry everything back to your room,” Sara explains. “I got the bottles, and there’s a box of daily contacts over there for you—and, you know, I had _no idea_ you wore contacts,” Sara says, already moving toward the door.

 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Leonard mutters, reaching over to grab the box and falling into step behind Sara. She’s moving fast, which is great, because it doesn’t give him time to think about the fact that Gideon asked her to help him do this, like he couldn’t do it on his own.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” she calls over her shoulder, “honestly, Snart, you’re a queer dude with a dick, I would be more surprised if you _didn’t_ have lube.”

 

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Yes, Sara, please continue to shout the contents of my cabinets through the hallways of the ship, I didn’t need privacy anyway.”

 

Sara laughs at him. “Privacy? On this ship? You think I haven’t heard half this team jerking off at various points? These walls are _paper thin_ because clearly Time Masters didn’t understand the need for soundproofing—not with their whole ‘no attachments’ bullshit rule.”

 

“Yes, because that worked so well for the Jedi Council,” Leonard drawls. Sara glances back at him.

 

“What?” she asks. _Right_.

 

“ _Star Wars_ joke,” Leonard explains. “Never mind.”

 

“You can tell it to Ray later,” Sara teases. “I’m sure he’d find it hilarious.”

 

“Shut up, Sara.”

 

They get to Leonard’s door, and he tucks the box of contacts under his right arm so he can place his left palm on the opening mechanism. Sara slips in as soon as the doors open and starts putting stuff away.

 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me where things go?” Leonard asks.

 

Sara shakes her head and drops the lube on the bedside table on her way into his bathroom. “I think shampoo is pretty self-explanatory, Snart.”

 

Leonard groans again, and throws the contacts on the bed. He’ll put them away later. Right now he just wants to stash the _offending bottle of lube_ in the drawer, out of sight. Not that he’s really embarrassed to have it; it’s more that he’d rather not be reminded that he’s not gonna be using it on anyone but himself right now. And Sara knows this, and she delights in making fun of him for things like this.

 

“Remind me why I’m friends with you,” Leonard calls out, hearing Sara rustling around in the bathroom, bottles thumping down onto various surfaces.

 

She pokes her blond head out of the bathroom and grins at him, shark-like. “Who else will put up with you whining about Ray for hours on end?”

 

“I do not—”

 

“ _God, he’s so annoying_ ,” Sara says, in a poor imitation of Leonard’s drawl. _“I hate his perfect face and his perfect teeth and his perfect hair and his perfect smile and his perfect ass and—_ ”

 

“Get out of my room, Sara.”

 

She walks out of the bathroom, brushing her hands together. “I’m done anyway. I’m gonna go pass out for a few hours. You should, too.”

 

Leonard nods. “Yeah, that’s the plan. Now, get out.” He places his hand firmly on her mid-back and starts guiding her toward the door.

 

“Sweet dreams of Ray,” she says, and winks at him as she lets him push her fully out the door.

 

He closes it behind her, rolling his eyes. It’s fond, though. She reminds him of Lisa sometimes, especially with the way she teases him. It’s a nice feeling, even if there’s a bit of homesickness mixed in. Not really for Central City, more just for Lisa herself. They haven’t been apart this long in…well, ever.

 

Leonard wishes he could call her, just to check in, just to see how she’s doing. Well, really to hear her voice, since he’s asked Gideon more than once to check up on Lisa.

 

She’s always okay, and it’s always a relief.

 

Leonard’s slowly getting better at changing his clothes one-handed, and it’s even easier when the clothes he’s changing into are his sweatpants and long-sleeved Henley for sleep. It still takes him about two to three times as long as it used to, but it’s _slightly_ better. He’ll take it.

 

Since Gideon printed him up daily contacts, he just tosses the old ones—they’ve been in his eyes for over 48 hours anyway—directly into the trash. He blinks rapidly, his eyes dry and scratchy for a few minutes before moisture floods back in. _Much better_. He picks up his glasses, clumsily using his teeth to unfold the earpieces so he can put them on.

 

He probably should shower before he gets into bed, but he needs to sleep more than he needs to be clean right now. He can feel his eyelids getting heavy, and heads back out into his bedroom.

 

“Gideon?” he asks. “How long do I have?”

 

“I’d estimate approximately four to six hours until we depart for our as-of-yet undetermined destination,” Gideon answers.

 

“Okay. Wake me up in four?”

 

“I will wake you up in four hours, Mr. Snart. Sleep well.”

 

Leonard gets into bed, placing his glasses on the bedside table and pulling the covers up to his chin. “Thanks, Gideon,” he says, and passes out.

 

* * *

 

Leonard wakes up to slowly brightening lights and Gideon informing him that it’s been four hours since he fell asleep. He turns onto his side so he can grab his glasses with his remaining hand and put them on his face. Blearily, he gets up, wandering into the bathroom to shower and get ready for whatever is coming next.

 

Not that he can predict, or even be ready for anything that happens with this disaster team, but still.

 

He really wants to put his contacts in, but his face is puffy and tender, and he figures he’ll give it a bit of a rest until it calms down. The team gets to see his clear-frame glasses for the first time. At least the glasses look good on him, and hopefully they distract from his colorful face.

 

Showering _is_ a lot easier with the pump-top bottles—even though he can’t see anything without his contacts—and he gives Gideon a quiet ‘thank you’ for thinking it up for him. It’s not something he would have thought of on his own, or deigned to ask for. He would have just suffered through things being difficult—more difficult than they had to be. It’s already hard enough, with the shower pressure making his bruises and small cuts sting, in addition to it still feeling weird and slightly painful on his stump.

 

“I should probably get better at asking for help, shouldn’t I?” he asks, vaguely to himself, partially to Gideon.

 

“I think that would be wise, Mr. Snart,” Gideon responds.

 

It’s probably not gonna happen, but it’s a nice sentiment nonetheless.

 

Although…he looks down at his combat boots when he finishes slowly getting dressed. It’s only been a few days since he last wore them, but they’re comfortable—and _comforting_ —and he’d like to wear them. He supposes he could, maybe, _ask_ one of his teammates to tie them for him. The thought of doing so makes his skin crawl, but he hasn’t gotten this far in life without a stubborn streak a hundred miles long.

 

Leonard slips his feet into the combat boots and pulls at the laces to keep them on his feet temporarily. Then he walks out into the hallway, to see who he can find who will be willing to tie his shoes—and who won’t be a dick about it, which rules out Stein. Luckily, Jax is the first person he comes across on his way to the lab, and he stops the kid right outside the galley.

 

“Jax,” Leonard says, in greeting.

 

“Hey, man,” Jax says, and then pauses. “Glasses?” he asks, nodding up at Leonard’s face.

 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” Leonard replies. He guesses the whole team is gonna be asking about the glasses, if he runs into them. Jax nods, intending to move on, but Leonard holds a hand out to keep him there, as he tries to figure out a way to phrase his question. Jax looks at him, expectantly, so Leonard just says it. “Would you mind, uh, tying my shoes for me? Not so easy to do with my robot hand in the shop.” He holds up his stump, waving it a bit.

 

“Oh! Sure.” Jax kneels down, sitting back on his heels, and quickly ties the laces of Leonard’s combat boots.

 

Leonard hopes that nobody walks into the hallway at this. Even discounting the fact that the position could look vaguely compromising—which is enough to gross Leonard out, since Jax is young enough to literally be his son—Leonard would rather only one team member at a time see him at a weak moment.

 

“Okay!” Jax says, standing up and brushing off his knees. “All set.” He leans back down to press on the side of his knee, massaging it.

 

“Thanks,” Leonard says. He watches Jax fiddle with his knee for a second before asking, “You okay?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, my knee’s just a bit stiff,” Jax answers. “You know, messed it up when the particle accelerator explosion hit Central City.”

 

Leonard winces. “Right, I forgot. Sorry.”

 

“Eh, it’s okay,” Jax says, shrugging. “I can fly, so, like, not a bad trade.”

 

Leonard snorts. “Fair enough. Well, uh, thanks.” He gives Jax a small smile and wanders off to the lab to see if Raymond is done working on the implant.

 

His combat boots feel great back on his feet, even if he feels a bit pathetic at deriving so much comfort from something so simple—something he’d taken for granted only a few days ago. He supposes he should just take his comfort where he can.

 

The lab is empty and dark, when he reaches it. No sign of Raymond, but there is a small, clear area on the metal table next to the prosthesis, where a tiny, black square sits. Leonard walks over, peering down at it. It doesn’t look like much, but Leonard assumes it’s the implant. He reaches out to touch it, but then thinks better of it. Probably not best to put his fingers all over it, in case Raymond needs to sterilize it more before he…inserts it into Leonard.

 

Wow, there’s no way to not make that sound dirty, and Leonard is glad he thought it before he accidentally said it out loud.

 

He hears footprints approaching, but they sound more like Sara than Raymond. He turns around as Sara peeks her head into the lab.

 

“Gideon said you were up. Why are you here and not in the med bay?” She asks, glaring.

 

Leonard cocks his head at her. “Why would I be in the med bay?”

 

She rolls her eyes and steps into the room, gesturing vaguely at his entire body. “Your eye is swollen so bad you’re wearing your _glasses_ that nobody knew you had before, like, today. I’m sure the rest of your body is sore, considering that Mick Rory’s fists are the size of my face. Please just sit in the goddamn chair and shut up and let Gideon reduce some of the swelling and make sure you’re not bleeding internally.”

 

“Sara,” Leonard says, reluctantly following her out of the lab and in the direction of the med bay, “if I were bleeding internally, I’m _pretty_ _sure_ I would have noticed. Anyway, if you were worried about me bleeding internally, why didn’t you drag me to the med bay before you told me to go to sleep?”

 

Sara shrugs. “Didn’t think of it. You’re probably fine.”

 

He rolls his eyes as they walk into the med bay, and he settles down into the chair.

 

“There is no internal bleeding, Mr. Snart,” Gideon says immediately. Leonard glares at Sara, who just smirks at him. “I can reduce the swelling on your face, and give you something to ease the soreness in your body. You’ll have to do the rest of the healing on your own, as there’s not much I can do for bruises.”

 

Gideon’s soothing light focuses on his face, cool and calming. His face stings slightly and then eases as he feels the swelling go down, and he can see clearly out of his left eye again. _Nice_. Okay, fine, maybe there’s something to be said for actually taking care of yourself. Or at least for actually going to the med bay for anything less than being shot or losing a limb.

 

“You good?” Sara asks. Leonard nods. “Okay,” she continues, “I’m gonna go back to the bridge. Meet you there in a bit, we’re gonna head out in like an hour or so. I think Rip’s figured out our destination.”

 

“Where?”

 

Sara snorts. “Fuck if I know. ‘ _Somewhere safe, Miss Lance_ ,’ was all he said to me, so, could be anywhere.” Sara’s English accent is horrible, but Leonard doesn’t comment, just nods and closes his eyes as the beam spreads over his body, targeting any other swollen areas, and the medical bracelet pumps out painkillers. “See ya,” Sara says, and disappears.

 

Good. _Silence_. Well, silent except for the soft whirring of the machine and the beeping of the machines. But no chattering, no annoying background commentary, no snide remarks.

 

That is, until he hears footsteps approaching. Long stride, not stomping, must be Raymond.

 

Leonard loves being right.

 

Raymond turns the corner into the med bay and stops short. “Glasses, huh? Guess you weren’t lying about the contacts.” He takes another few steps into the room, walking over to the cot to sit down on the stool.

 

“Had some swelling,” Leonard replies. “Gideon took care of it, so I’ll put my contacts in before we leave the temporal zone.”

 

“I like them!” Raymond says, dropping a few things onto the metal table next to the cot. “Your glasses, I mean.”

 

“Yeah, Raymond, I got that. Thanks.” Leonard glances over, watching Raymond organize things. “What are you doing?”

 

“Oh!” Raymond grins at him. “I was just coming to find you, to ask you to come to the med bay so I can implant the neural network! But you’re already here, so, perfect.”

 

“Gotcha,” Leonard says. He watches as Raymond sets tools down on the wheeled table, along with that small, black square that Leonard had seen in the lab earlier.

 

“You ready?”

 

Leonard shrugs. “Sure. Might as well.”

 

“I’m gonna implant it behind your left ear,” Raymond says. “It’s got an on/off mechanism—tapping it three times will toggle the connection to the prosthesis, and it’s, well, helpful if you can actually tap it with your fingers.”

 

“You mean my actual fingers,” Leonard says.

 

Raymond smiles at him. “Exactly. Hard to turn on the connection with a prosthetic hand that isn’t connected to anything! Gideon, can you do some localized anesthetic behind Snart’s left ear for me?”

 

“Of course, Dr. Palmer,” Gideon replies.

 

Leonard feels ice spreading out across the left half of his skull. He shivers, even as he enjoys the sensation.

 

“It is working?” Raymond asks. Leonard nods, and Raymond continues, “Okay, turn on your side for me and take your glasses off.”

 

Leonard complies, rolling over onto his right side, his back to Raymond, his glasses settled on the cot next to him. He hears rustling behind him and he wants to turn to look but he’s not sure what’s happening. “Can you, uh, tell me what you’re doing?” Leonard asks. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Raymond, it’s that people doing things behind his back make him nervous.

 

“Oh, yeah! Sorry!” Raymond says, and places his hand briefly on Leonard’s shoulder. “Wasn’t thinking. So, I’m sterilizing everything, and then…okay, I’m gonna make a small incision behind your ear.”

 

Leonard feels slight pressure there, but no pain, so the anesthetic seems to be working.

 

“Incision has been made,” Raymond continues. “I’m inserting the neural network interface under the skin—and it’s in. Gideon, can you seal the incision?”

 

“Of course, Dr. Palmer,” Gideon responds.

 

Leonard doesn’t feel anything, but he sees the light out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Okay, you can sit up,” Raymond says.

 

“That’s it?” Leonard says, doing as he’s told and sitting up, settling his glasses back on his face.

 

Raymond nods. “That’s it! See, easy. Wanna try the hand now?”

 

Leonard holds out his stump and lets Raymond slip on the sleeve and then the prosthesis. “So I just…tap it?”

 

“Three times,” Raymond confirms.

 

He taps the place where he approximates the implant to be—three times, sharp and fast. The anesthetic is still doing its job, so he doesn’t really feel much, but he does feel Raymond’s hands, still holding onto the prosthesis. Oh, does he feel them.

 

The sensation is stronger than it was before—it feels like Raymond is actually touching him, touching his _skin_. He looks down at the hand, at Raymond holding the hand— _his_ hand—and tries to move the fingers. They twitch, and then curl around Raymond’s fingers.

 

“Good!” Raymond says, grinning up at him. “Is that the hardest you can squeeze my fingers?”

 

Leonard’s mind goes blank. Oh, he’s in too deep for this. No—gotta focus, gotta act like everything is normal, like he’s not affected by Raymond sitting in between his legs, holding his hand. He clears his throat, shakes his head, and focuses.

 

The fingers don’t close any further.

 

“That’s all I got,” Leonard says, his voice miraculously steady, his drawl firmly in place.

 

“Okay, that’s okay, we’ll keep working on it!” Raymond stands up and doesn’t step away from Leonard as he stretches up to the ceiling and, oh, they’re close. They’re very close. So close that Leonard now knows that Raymond smells like metal and flowers. He’s not sure if the flower part of that is Kendra’s perfume, or just Raymond’s preferred scent, but it’s nice, regardless.

 

Raymond steps back when he finishes stretching and, fuck, Leonard wants to jump down from the cot and pin him against the nearest wall. But that’s _inappropriate_ , and very frowned upon. Plus, Leonard _tries_ not to go around stealing people’s partners. That’s just poor taste.

 

Still…Raymond and Kendra seem to keep half-breaking up and then immediately getting back together. Leonard is sick of it, he can only imagine what it’s like to be _in_ it. Regardless, he’s not tacky enough to make a move on Raymond, not while Raymond is still dating Kendra.

 

Sometimes, Leonard wishes he had an even worse moral compass than the already-shitty one he has.

 

Rip’s voice comes over the speakers in the med bay, interrupting his thoughts: “Team, please report to the bridge. We are ready to leave the temporal zone.”

 

“Shall we?” Raymond asks, walking over to the door.

 

“I want to go put my contacts in,” Leonard says, jumping down from the cot. Raymond nods in return and heads off in the direction of the bridge. Leonard hurries to his room and hastily shoves his contacts in his eyes, using his left hand to put them in and the fingers of the prosthesis to widen his eyes so he can slip them in under the lid.

 

Then he heads to the bridge, flexing the fingers of the prosthesis as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to my lovely beta Ruth <3


	5. Magnificent Eight, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team lands in Salvation. Leonard's aim improves slightly, he gets into a fight, he has a difficult conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was getting long so I decided to break Magnificent Eight up into ~~two~~ **three** chapters!

“Ah, Mr. Snart,” Rip says as Leonard walks onto the bridge. “Good, we’re all here. Take a seat, and we’ll head out.”

 

Leonard nods and glances around at his already-seated teammates. Everyone’s got a seatmate, and the only space left is the two empty seats next to each other. Great. He chooses one and sits in it, unsure if he enjoys the space between him and his teammates, or if it hits him in a way he’d rather not think about.

 

Maybe both. There’s a difference between choosing to stand apart from everyone, and having it be his only option.

 

 _Shut up dumbass_ , the voice in his head says, _it’s only a fucking chair_. Leonard shakes his head sharply to dislodge the voice as the Rip settles in the captain’s chair and sends the Waverider careening out of the time stream.

 

The ride is rougher than the others have been, and Leonard’s body starts to ache with the force of it. He feels every bruise with a pinpoint focus, like they’re blossoming and swelling all over again. His stump throbs, shooting pains radiating out from it and up his arm. He grits his teeth and holds on as his stomach drops and he feels like he might throw up.

 

They land, finally, and Leonard quickly unclenches his left hand from where he’s been clutching the chair’s harness, and quickly lifts it above his head, as if that was his intention all along. _Don’t show weakness, you’re fine, you’re ice_.

 

Rip jumps out of his chair as soon as the ship settles, slapping at the back of his neck. “Aah, it’s been quite a while since I time-jumped far enough to experience side effects,” he says, moving back over to rejoin the team around the center console. “Fond memories.”

 

“I can’t feel my face,” Jax complains, rubbing at his cheek.

 

“I feel fine,” Leonard lies, shifting in his chair to see if a different position will help his body ache less.

 

Rip practically twirls over to him, and Leonard isn’t sure why Rip is looking at him like that until he says, “Linguistic dysplasia, that should pass shortly.”

 

What? What did he say? Did he not say what he thought he’d said? The thought makes him uncomfortable, and he pays close attention to the way the next words he says come out of his mouth.

 

“Better it now.” Shit, that wasn’t what he was trying to say. Leonard presses his lips closed, better to wait until this shitty side effect passes and he can say what he means to say again.

 

Jax stands up, still rubbing at his cheek. “Am I the only one who can’t feel their face?”

 

Leonard would much prefer that side effect, as opposed to one where he has no control over what he says. He _hates_ losing control.

 

“I can’t feel my…” Raymond starts, standing in front of his chair. He pauses, and looks down. Oh, fuck, _really_? “I better not say.”

 

Leonard wants to laugh, which is at least a nice change from feeling out of control. He _really_ wants to make a snide comment, but he’s not sure the words will come out of his mouth in the right order, so he keeps his mouth shut. He can’t help his eyes from being drawn to where Raymond is crossing his hands over his crotch, though.

 

“Mr. Rory appears unaffected,” Stein comments, drawing Leonard’s attention away from any thoughts of Raymond’s dick.

 

“What’s going on? We time-jump?” Mick asks, sounding like he just woke up from a nap. Maybe he had, Leonard had carefully avoided making eye contact with Mick when he walked onto the bridge. They may be _okay_ in theory, but Leonard still wants to keep a safe distance, for now.

 

Sara looks over at Mick in disgust. “Yeah, we time-jumped. But ‘where to?’ is the better question.”

 

“The town of Salvation, Dakota Territory, 1871,” Rip answers.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Leonard sees Raymond’s face light up. “I can’t believe it! The Old West!” _Overexcited puppy_.

 

“This isn’t gonna work,” Mick growls at Rip.

 

“It’ll buy us time,” Rip responds. “We can hide out here while the Hunters search the other Fragmentations.”

 

“What if they decide to check this place first?” Mick shoots back. Leonard follows the conversation, eyes swinging back and forth between the two of them, glad that everyone else looks as confused as he feels.

 

“You know,” Kendra pipes up, “feel free to loop us in whenever it’s convenient.”

 

Rip spins around to face her, talking fast as he tries to explain. “As you’ve seen, time doesn’t operate as generally thought. It wants to happen. It takes time to harden. The—the timeline is unclear on occasion, constantly in flux.”

 

“Hence the difficulty in locating Savage throughout history,” Stein cuts in.

 

“Indeed,” Rip confirms. “And one of the other interesting notions of time travel is the existence of Fragmentations.”

 

“Temporal blind spots,” Mick says, butting in and picking up the thread of the conversation. Rip tends to ramble, and Leonard appreciates Mick getting straight to the meat of it. “Specific places and times the Time Masters can’t see.”

 

Rip nods. “The town of Salvation and its surrounding environs are located within one of these Fragmentations.”

 

Leonard thinks he gets it, and he thinks he has control of his tongue again, so he stands up and joins the conversation. “So basically we’re hiding out in the Old West and hoping your bogeymen don’t find us here.” He spins, leaning his right arm against the back of the chair he’d been sitting in, clenching and unclenching the fingers of the prosthesis.

 

“The Hunters are not bogeymen,” Mick corrects, “and you better hope they don’t find us.” Leonard turns his face in Mick’s direction, so he can see Mick out of his periphery, but he still doesn’t want to look at him directly. He’s about to say something when Raymond speaks up.

 

“Well, at least not until I get a chance to ‘punch a few doggies’ or ‘bust a bronco’ or two!” Raymond beams at the team, who all look back at him with a mix of confusion and annoyance. “Not that I condone animal cruelty!” he corrects, his face dropping. “It’s just that I watched a lot of Westerns as a kid!”

 

Raymond looks so disappointed, and the rest of the team isn’t helping. Kendra is looking at him like he’s a wayward child she needs to rein in, and Leonard just…doesn’t get it. He may not get how relationships work, but he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to put down the things your partner is excited about. Although, he’s probably biased, seeing as how it’s Raymond, and how he’s bitter that Kendra got there first.

 

“Alas,” Rip tells him, “you’ll have to enjoy the Old West from in here, I’m afraid.” He turns to walk into his office, as if the matter is settled.

 

Sara does _not_ think it’s settled. “Oh, come on! What’s the harm in us just having a look around?”

 

“With this group?” Stein says, incredulously. _Killjoy_. “Clearly, you haven’t been paying attention.”

 

Raymond groans. “If I’m in the Old West and I don’t get to look around, I’m going to kick myself.” He sounds like his excitement is growing again, and Leonard wants to nip any negative comments about his enthusiasm in the bud.

 

But, well, Leonard isn’t really good at _positivity_. “I could help with that,” he drawls, smirking, hoping his teasing comment is gonna get at least one of Raymond’s adorable annoyed faces, if not the ghost of a smile.

 

Instead, he just gets ignored. By everyone, but especially Raymond. He tries not to let it get to him, but he still feels his face fall as he looks down and away.

 

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” he hears Mick say to Rip over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be a good boy.”

 

“So we can go?” Sara asks, excitement clear in her voice. Leonard glances back up to see her grinning, and Raymond, looking encouraged by her excitement, beaming again.

 

“I suppose,” Rip relents, and Sara lets out a loud _whoop_. “Please refrain from—” Rip starts, but Sara cuts him off.

 

“Fabrication room, everyone!” she calls, and strides out, Raymond close on her heels.

 

They all take turns having Gideon print them up period-appropriate attire. Leonard leans against the wall and watches, idly spinning a hat with the prosthetic fingers, trying to keep it level and turning at a steady rate.

 

Raymond, who Leonard had to watch strip off his shirt and change into the white collared shirt, rust-colored vest, and black jacket (with a _paisley_ tie), chuckles to himself. “I look just like Wyatt Earp,” he says, putting his own hat on his head. It’s a _look_ , and Leonard isn’t sure he isn’t drooling, or that he hadn’t stopped drooling after seeing the hard muscles of Raymond’s back and arms.

 

Would’ve been even better if Raymond had turned to face him while changing but, tragically, all Leonard got to see was his back. Still, Leonard will take what he can get. He ignores Sara smirking at him, and continues to spin the hat. She had also stripped down completely to her underwear, right in front of everyone, to change into the Old West outfit that Gideon printed up for her. Mick had laughed at her, and then did the same.

 

Leonard cringes at the thought of showing his scars to everyone like that. Raymond’s back had been smooth, an unbroken expanse that Leonard definitely wanted to put his mouth on, but Sara and Mick both had their share of scars. Leonard thinks of his own, coiling up his arms and around his torso, and can’t imagine being that comfortable in them, in his own skin, to strip down in front of that many people.

 

Hell, he doesn’t even like to be naked when he’s _alone_. Then he has to _look_ at his scars, and he’d rather avoid that at all costs.

 

Sara finishes braiding her hair as Rip walks back in, already talking, not caring about any conversations he may be interrupting. “Now, the fabricator can make clothing, but you’re also going to need era-appropriate protection.”

 

Leonard bites back a comment about the _kind_ of protection that Rip is referring to.

 

“This era can get a little, uh, rough,” Rip finishes, walking over to the glowing panel, housing a few old-looking guns, that had slid out of the wall at his words.

 

“Oh, six-shooters?” Jax asked, unable to keep the excitement from his tone.

 

“Actually,” Raymond says, almost bouncing up and down with his enthusiasm, “most guns of that time period had hammer blocks, thus reducing the number of shots to five!”

 

“Now this should go without saying,” Rip continues, ignoring Raymond and walking over to the middle of the room, where Sara and Kendra are standing, “but considering this group, I am going to say it— _only_ use these weapons in case of extreme emergencies.” He sends a sharp glare at the ladies, and only then hands over the guns.

 

“You make it sound like you’re not coming with,” Kendra says, taking the gun from his hand.

 

Stein nods. “From your duster and revolver, I’d imagined you as much an Old West aficionado as Dr. Palmer.”

 

Rip stuffs his hands into his pockets, and Leonard gets the feeling that their captain is holding something back, but he’s not in the mood to pry.

 

“Indeed I am,” Rip answers. “But my time is best spent back here on the ship, plotting our next move against Vandal Savage. Besides,” he says, as he walks back over to the door, “as Mr. Rory says, it’s only a matter of time before the Hunters find us here.”

 

Leonard flips his hat onto his head. “Don’t worry,” he says, causing Rip to stop on his way out the door, “we’re not going to put down roots.”

 

“Yeah, we’ll stay out of trouble,” Sara agrees, flipping the gun a few times around her finger.

 

Rip makes a noncommittal noise in response. “How I hope and pray that to be true,” he says, and walks out.

 

Leonard pushes off the wall, heading over to the fabricator to collect his clothing. Gideon doesn’t say anything this time, but she does give him clothing with snaps, instead of buttons. Velcro wouldn’t be in fitting with the time period. Leonard guesses that snaps aren’t either, but they’re at least less noticeable.

 

Earlier, Leonard had watched as Gideon printed Raymond up a long, black coat. Raymond had put in on, briefly, before discarding it to better show off the black suit jacket. Leonard scoops it up from the bench Raymond had left it on and adds it to his pile of clothes.

 

“Meet you guys in the cargo bay?” Sara asks, glancing at the clothes bundled in his arms, as well as the clothes carried by Jax, Kendra, and Stein, who clearly aren’t as comfortable stripping down in front of everyone as the others.

 

Leonard nods and slips out, back to his room. Gideon seems to love putting him in deep blues and blacks, and Leonard isn’t going to complain. That’s his normal color scheme anyway, and it’s nice how she picks up on things like that.

 

He keeps flexing the fingers of the prosthesis as he changes, mostly one-handed, into the Old West attire. He’s getting better, in a way. He can almost form a fist, he can mostly grip something like the handle of his cold gun, he can kind of use the trigger finger. It feels very blunt, though—there’s no nuance to his movements.

 

Leonard can’t control how tight the fist closes, still can’t squeeze things with any accuracy. He definitely can’t control the cold gun, and he’s kind of glad he won’t be bringing it along with him to explore the Wild West. The six-shooter that he pulled out of the panel—well, okay, the five-shooter with a hammer block, according to Raymond—should be easier for him to use, or at least he should be able to shoot it. Maybe not as accurately as he used to, but he pulls the trigger a few times with it unloaded, just to test.

 

Not as smooth, not as neat as it used to be, as _he_ used to be with a gun, but it should do in a pinch. In theory.

 

He places his hat back on his head, shrugs on the over-large coat that Raymond had discarded, and heads to the cargo bay to meet up with the rest of the team. Raymond grins when he walks in and bounds over, holding out a pair of black gloves. “I figure, a robotic hand might cause a stir, so I had Gideon make these up for you!”

 

Right, good point. Leonard nods in thanks and accepts the gloves, slipping them on. He has to use his teeth to get the left one on fully, since he still can’t muster up enough force with the prosthesis to pinch anything as thin as fabric, even moderately thick leather.

 

Then they all walk out, into the Old West.

 

* * *

 

The saloon is dim, musty, but cleaner than Leonard would have expected. Mick, Kendra, and Sara head straight for the bar, Jax and Raymond settle down at a table and start talking to the locals, and Stein, to Leonard’s surprise, sits down at a card table and starts playing. Playing, and _winning_. Interesting.

 

“Didn’t know you played cards,” Leonard says, walking around the table and plopping down into the empty chair next to the professor.

 

“Like you, Mr. Snart, I am an enigma,” Stein replies, and carefully places a few bills in the center of the table. “Raise,” he says, to the two men he’s playing against. Both of them also throw in, and Stein puts his cards down on the table. “Aha! Thank you gentlemen,” he says, reaching for the pot in the center.

 

“I’m impressed,” Leonard says. That didn’t take long at all. Leonard might have asked to join in, if he thought he could actually hold the cards with the prosthesis. He’d like to try his luck against the professor at some point, though. Seems as though Stein has some moderately fun hidden talents.

 

“My father was what some might call a degenerate gambler,” Stein explains. “Others would say criminal. When I was old enough, he’d pull me in on some of his schemes.”

 

Well, that sounds _horribly familiar_. Leonard’s blood runs cold. This is not a conversation he wants to be having right now—in public, surrounded by strangers, with Professor Stein. He does _not_ want to be reminded of Lewis, does _not_ want to hear about how his childhood compares to Stein’s.

 

“I picked up a thing or two at a few of the card tables he frequented,” Stein continues, unaware of the effect his words are having on Leonard. “Then, I took a different path.” He places another stack of money on the table, looking at his cards. “Like father, like son isn’t always inevitable, Mr. Snart.”

 

Leonard isn’t sure if Stein is trying to bond, or trying to talk Leonard into some warped sense of heroism, but he doesn’t appreciate it. He doesn’t appreciate that Stein thinks it’s just _easy_ to get past…abuse. God, Leonard hates that word, would avoid it for the rest of his life if he could, but it’s what he went through—and he accepts that Lewis abused Lisa, so he supposes he should accept that Lewis abused _him_ as well.

 

 _You’re so weak_ , the voice in his head says. It would be easier to shake that voice off if Leonard didn’t agree with it. He stays silent.

 

Stein lays his cards down on the table with a smug grin and reaches once again for the pot in the center of the table. This time, though, the ginger man across from him stops him, with a hand firmly over his own. Leonard starts to get a tingling in the back of his head, a sign that things are going to go very wrong. He’s seen too much not to pick up on hints, on clues that this is a loose cannon.

 

Ginger and Stein start arguing over their hands, but Leonard only half-listens. He’s suddenly very glad that he at least practiced a small amount with the older weapon at his hip, and that he actually loaded it before leaving the ship. He should have practiced actually shooting it, but aim isn’t entirely in his hand, so he hopes that he’ll be able to get a shot off if anything goes wrong.

 

His sense of danger only grows when the man arguing with Stein grabs at the waitress, not in a lewd way, but in a way meant to damage. Leonard recognizes the signs, knows that ginger is about to blow. Stein doesn’t seem to intuit what is about to happen, because he stands up, sure and steady, to defend the waitress.

 

Leonard has to applaud his stubbornness, and he’s honestly glad that someone is standing up for the woman—the man’s grip is certainly leaving bruises—but Stein is throwing fuel on the fire. Leonard taps the handle of his gun with the prosthetic fingers, flexing them so they’re as loose and ready as they can be. “Now, now, boys,” he says, as calm as he can, trying to defuse the situation, “let’s just take it easy.”

 

Ginger releases the waitress and she hurries off. Leonard hopes that’s the end of it, but Stein keeps talking. “Oh, when my friend here is being reasonable, you know we have a problem.”

 

 _Not helpful_.

 

“I’m not the one with the problem,” ginger says, standing up. Leonard takes a deep breath, and gets ready, mentally lining up the shot. He can’t pull first, he’s seen enough Westerns to know how things work—hopefully they were accurate on _this_ aspect, if not on the fact that cowboys were pretty exclusively non-white. And very queer.

 

The man is fully up at this point, his gun in clear view, and Leonard waits one beat, two—the man speaks, once more, but Leonard isn’t listening—and he moves, fingers around the handle, finger on the trigger, up, _shoot_.

 

He aims for ginger’s gun.

 

The shot, instead, hits the man directly in the stomach and he drops like a sinking weight. Well, that’s one way to resolve a problem.

 

“You killed him!” Stein exclaims, sounding extremely unhappy. _Ungrateful piece of shit_. _Next time I’ll just let you die_.

 

“You’re _welcome_ ,” Leonard replies, not bothering to hide his annoyance. He hears chairs sliding across the floor, all around him, and looks up. Oh, shit. The guy had friends. There’s a small exodus of people who clearly don’t want to get involved, and they scurry out past the men standing up, staring at Leonard.

 

Stein tries to defuse, _now_. Would’ve been more helpful earlier.

 

“Clearly, the deceased was a friend of yours, but my friend here—”

 

“Your friend drew first, got put down,” Leonard cuts in, seeing that Stein is gonna get nowhere with this. He stands, the gun back into the holster. It won’t be effective at close range, anyway. “It was a clean shot.”

 

“Do we look like we care about clean?” another man says. Leonard turns to face him, bracing for an attack.

 

“He has a point,” Stein agrees. _Not fucking helpful._

 

The man in front of Leonard swings at him, a wide, messy punch. Leonard flows with it, dodging easily, and retorts with a punch of his own. The prosthesis still won’t quite make a fist, but it’s still metal, and the man’s face makes a very satisfying noise as it gives way underneath the hand. The man drops, and chaos breaks out.

 

Leonard can see the rest of the Legends pitching in, each of them holding their own—except Stein, who starts pulling civilians out of the way. He’s an asshole, and he’s old, but at least he’s doing _something_ useful.

 

The fight grows, and Leonard takes punches, and doles them out. He’s growing to appreciate the sound of metal on bone, as gross as it is. It’s _satisfying_ and visceral and he feels _alive_.

 

He catches sight of Raymond heaving someone over the counter, next to a passed-out Mick. Even in the midst of a battle, Leonard has a passing thought that he’d really like Raymond to throw him up against a wall—not quite as hard as he threw the other guy, but still.

 

 _Not the time, dumbass_.

 

Sara is gleefully throwing her body in the air at people, and when she hits them, they go _down_. It’s fun to watch, and Leonard wishes he could focus more on the brawling styles of his teammates instead of having to hold his own.

 

Then a shot rings out, and the bar goes still.

 

“All right,” a gruff voice calls, cutting through the silence. “Playtime’s over. Anybody’s got a problem with that, they answer to me.” The man speaking steps forward. He’s dressed in dark gray wool and brown leather, his face scarred, a snarl tugging at his lips.

 

“Thank you,” Stein says, “Mr…?”

 

“Hex,” scars says, walking up to Stein. “Jonah Hex. You’re not from around here, are you?” he asks.

 

“No,” Stein answers, after a brief pause. “My friends and I are, uh, from out of town.” Leonard doesn’t get a bad feeling from this guy, but he keeps the prosthesis close to his gun, just in case.

 

Hex nods. “Way outta town.” He knows something, Leonard can tell, but he’s not forthcoming about it, and Leonard doesn’t want to prod quite yet. Hex leads them out of the saloon, continuing his questioning when they’re out in the open. “All right,” he says, “why don’t you folks tell me where you’re really from.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business, sir,” Raymond replies—trust him to be _polite_ to a complete stranger who is definitely dangerous, even if he doesn’t currently seem like a threat.

 

“Let me rephrase that,” Hex says, turning to face the Legends. “Tell me _when_ y’all from.”

 

Oh. That’s _very interesting_. Leonard watches his teammates glance nervously at each other.

 

“You seven stick out like a dog in a manger,” Hex continues. The door opens behind Leonard, and he can see Mick at his periphery, coming out to join the rest of them and leaning heavily against the railing.

 

“Like he said,” Jax pipes up, “we’re not from around here.”

 

Hex steps forward. “You think you’re the first time travelers I’ve ever come across?”

 

“Uh, yes,” Stein replies.

 

“Where is he?” Hex asks. Leonard perks up. Who is he talking about? “I got some words that need sayin’.”

 

“Where is who?” Sara asks, echoing Leonard’s thoughts.

 

“Rip Hunter.”

 

Oh, yeah, Rip totally fucked a cowboy.

 

* * *

 

They escort Hex back to the ship, and Leonard finds out that the man is a bounty hunter, not technically a cowboy, but he clearly knows Rip well enough to know about the time traveling and the existence of the Waverider. Leonard still firmly believes that he and Rip were _something_ in the past, whenever it was that they knew each other.

 

Leonard really wants to follow Jax and Raymond, who are bringing Hex the rest of the way onto the bridge, but his wrist starts aching as soon as he steps foot on the ship. The adrenaline is flooding out of him, and he just _hurts_. So he heads to the med bay, instead of finding out if Rip actually fucked a cowboy.

 

He’ll just have to bug someone about it later, see if they’ll fill him in.

 

He gets into the med bay and releases the prosthetic hand, sighing as the pressure abates slightly, for a second. Then the throbbing comes back in full force and he swears quietly. He drops the hand down on the metal table and peels off the stretchy black sleeve, exposing his stump to the air. It doesn’t really help—actually, the cool air of the med bay stings a bit.

 

Leonard sighs and lays down on the cot. Without a word, Gideon activates the machinery, and it whirrs around him, bathing him in light.

 

“Mr. Snart,” Gideon says after a minute, “if you would attach the medical bracelet, I can also administer some painkillers.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” He’d forgotten. Using a combination of his left hand and his teeth he gets the bracelet on without having to put the prosthesis back on, which is a relief. He needs a break from it.

 

Having it is better than not having it at all, but he’s still not used to the weight of it, no matter how light Raymond tried to make it. It’s still solid machinery, metal and gears and cold, heavy tech. It’s not _his_ , it’s not a part of him. Even his cold gun felt more a part of him than this does, although he’ll admit that took time. This will, as well, but it doesn’t mean he’s not impatient for it.

 

He just wants to feel _whole_ again. And for his stump to _stop fucking throbbing_.

 

“Gideon, your painkillers suck,” he complains, wincing as a shooting pain spreads up his arm.

 

“My painkillers are not the problem,” Gideon replies, monotone and cold. “It seems as though you are experiencing a particularly acute episode of phantom limb pain.”

 

“You mentioned that before,” Leonard remembers. “Is it psychosomatic?”

 

“No, Mr. Snart. Like I said, your brain is sending signals to a limb that is no longer there. The fact that it is no longer there is confusing your brain, and causing pain. The painkillers I am administering should help slightly, but there are other methods that may help.” Gideon directs him to a drawer, and has him pull out sticky pads attached to wires. He sticks them on his stump, where she instructs him to, and then plugs the other end into the wall. “This is low-level electrical stimulation, Mr. Snart, please let me know if it becomes painful.”

 

“More painful, you mean?” Leonard asks, under his breath. Gideon does not respond, but he starts to feel a tingling emanating out from the pads on his wrist. It feels weird at first, like a low buzzing under his skin, and it _stings_. He grits his teeth and waits it out.

 

A few minutes in, the sensation changes. It still feels like tingling, but the pain slowly abates. Leonard lets out a long, slow breath.

 

“Better, Mr. Snart?” Gideon asks. Leonard nods and rests his head back against the cot, letting the electricity run through his arm.

 

He’s relaxing into a light sleep when he hears footsteps in the hall. Heavy boots, heavier footsteps. He’d know that tread anywhere—Mick.

 

Leonard opens his eyes as Mick turns the corner into the med bay, pausing once he catches sight of Leonard.

 

“Didn’t think anyone’d be in here,” Mick grunts, and turns to leave.

 

“It’s okay,” Leonard says, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the cot. “You can come in.”

 

Mick looks at him for a few seconds, eyes falling on the pads stuck to his stump, to the medical bracelet around his left wrist. “Jus’ got a headache,” Mick says, finally, walking in. “Lost my alcohol tolerance while I was…” He trails off and walks in, over to the little door in the wall. Two pills pop down and he takes them dry.

 

“While you were Chronos?” Leonard finishes.

 

“Yeah,” Mick says, short and sharp. He starts to walk out, but stops. Leonard waits, knowing that prodding Mick will only make him clam up. Better to wait him out. “You were gonna go back for me?” Mick asks, finally, still facing out into the hallway.

 

Leonard sighs. “Yeah, Mick.”

 

“Why didn’t you?” Mick asks, turning back around. He’s scowling, but Leonard knows him well enough to know that he’s unsure, that he’s ready to cut and run if things get dicey.

 

Leonard considers for a moment, but comes up empty. “Dunno,” he says. “It’s still in my future, I think. Maybe a, a paradox?” He’s seen enough science fiction to kind of understand the idea of paradoxes, but the actualities of them elude him. “Maybe you coming back as Chronos before this whole thing is over somehow stops me from going back for you, in my future.”

 

Mick shakes his head. “That’s some sciencey shit.”

 

“It’s all I got,” Leonard replies. “Mick, you’re _family_.”

 

“If I’m family,” Mick asks, crossing his arms across his chest, “then why’d you leave me in the first place?”

 

Leonard flounders for an answer. Really, he’s not sure. There are things he _knows_. He knows that Mick was a lit fuse, ready to explode. He knows that Mick betrayed the team, more than once. He knows that Raymond’s big eyes, that Sara’s teasing comments, that Jax’s kindness are all things that draw him in, that make him want to be a part of something. Part of the _team_.

 

So he chose the team. Over Mick. People he’s only known for a few weeks, over Mick, his _brother_ —in arms, if not in blood.

 

But, well, he supposes that he and Mick have always been like oil and water, like—to be a bit too on the nose—fire and ice. They work together perfectly, until they don’t.

 

When he’s been silent for too long, Mick sighs and walks back into the room, sitting down heavily on one of the rolling stools. “You’ve changed, Snart,” he says, his voice quiet.

 

Has he? Has Leonard changed that much? The obvious answer is yes, of course, to have betrayed Mick, to have chosen goodness over personal gain. To have decided what the right thing was, and then to do that thing—that’s new. That’s different.

 

But really, is it?

 

All Leonard’s life, everything he’s done has been for Lisa. Well, at least since she was born. Since he was in his mid-teens and suddenly he had a baby sister, everything was about her. _For_ her. And so much of that was about appeasing their father. If Lewis was focused on Leonard, on working jobs with Leonard, on teaching Leonard to be a crook, a criminal, his attention wasn’t on Lisa.

 

Lisa could be a kid, mostly. Kind of. Even if it cost Leonard his soul, he would always do what he could to keep Lisa safe.

 

But that’s the thing—he’s not so sure it cost him his soul. “Did I?” he asks. “Did I change? Or am I figuring out who I would have been without…”

 

“Without Lewis?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Mick shrugs. “I dunno. I do know that you used to wanna cause chaos. Now, doesn’t seem that way.”

 

Leonard mulls that over. Chaos was _Mick’s_ goal, not Leonard’s. Leonard—Leonard wanted money. He wanted enough to keep him and Lisa afloat, and happy. He wanted the thrill, too, though. The rush.

 

Being a part of this wild adventure gives him that same rush, the one he never thought he’d find outside of thieving. It gets his heart pumping and his mind working overtime, it keeps him alert. It’s never boring.

 

So, maybe Leonard doesn’t need to be a criminal to feel alive. Maybe he doesn’t need to steal. Maybe, just maybe, being a Legend can be enough.

 

He shakes his head. “I don’t want chaos,” he admits. That’s not the hard one to say out loud, so maybe that’s why he says that instead of, ‘I want to be a Legend,’ or especially, ‘I’m not sure I want to be a criminal anymore.’

 

“I still do,” Mick says. “I want revenge on the fuckers who turned me into Chronos. I wanna burn their entire world down. I don’t give a fuck if we stop Savage or not. Do you?”

 

Yes. Yes, Leonard does. Not for Kendra, definitely not for Carter. He wants to stop Savage because he doesn’t want the world to _burn_. “I do.”

 

Mick sighs and gets up. “Should’a known you had a heart under all that ice.”

 

Leonard wants to retort, but Raymond sticks his head into the med bay with a perky, “Hey, guys! Guess who’s the sheriff of Salvation now!”

 

Neither of them respond as Raymond continues grinning at them.

 

“I am!” Raymond says, after a minute. “Hex and I went into town to see if we could help fight off the Stillwater gang and, well, the sheriff didn’t want to deal with the chaos anymore so he made me the sheriff instead! Isn’t that cool?”

 

He’s clearly waiting for a response, and fuck if Leonard doesn’t think his enthusiasm is adorable. “Very cool,” Leonard says, dryly.

 

Raymond beams at him and continues, “Anyway, Hex thinks the gang is gonna come back to town tomorrow, try to assert their dominance or whatever, so we cooked up a plan. Snart, I’ll need you for this.”

 

Leonard raises an eyebrow. “Me?” he asks.

 

“Yeah,” Raymond says. “I need you to be my sniper."

 

“What?” Leonard asks, almost choking on the word. _Sniper_? Is Raymond _high_?

 

But Raymond is nodding. “I want you up in one of the windows with a rifle. Your reflexes are, honestly, kind of frightening, and even with the prosthesis, you got that shot off on that guy earlier, before he could kill Stein. I want you to have my back.”

 

“Uh…” Leonard looks over at Mick, who shrugs. He wonders if he should tell Raymond that his aim was off earlier, that he was aiming for ginger’s gun and not his stomach. He wonders if Raymond knows that Leonard’s face started heating up at his words. _Having his back_ , fuck.

 

“Do you want me to look over the prosthesis tonight, to make sure you’re good to go tomorrow?” Raymond asks, still flush with excitement.

 

Leonard can’t do anything but nod, and Raymond walks up to grab the prosthetic hand, spinning on his heel to walk out.

 

“I’ll bring it back in a bit!” he calls over his shoulder, and disappears.

 

Mick chuckles. “Guess some things haven’t changed,” he says. “You’re still gaga over Haircut.”

 

“ _You_ may have been gone a while, but it’s been less than a month since I left you in that forest,” Leonard says. “And Raymond was gone for _two years_ but it was _hours_ for me. I’m not that fickle, Mick.”

 

“Guess not,” Mick replies. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He gestures vaguely at the electrical wires running between Leonard and the wall, and walks out.

 

Silence, again. It had been nice earlier but now—now everything starts flooding in. What was Leonard thinking, wanting to be a Legend? Wanting to be _good_? He’ll never be a hero, he’ll never be able to make up for all the hurt he’s caused, so why bother?

 

It doesn’t matter that he did everything for Lisa. It doesn’t matter that he did it so his father maybe wouldn’t hit him this week, so his father wouldn’t call him… _that_. Fuck, Leonard’s gotten so weak, so _soft_ around these people who don’t throw slurs around, these people who don’t care that he’s queer, that he can’t even think the word that his father used to call him.

 

He used to not even flinch at it. Now, he can feel himself shaking slightly, and he doesn’t think it’s from the electrical stimulation flowing through his right arm.

 

Leonard’s gotten so weak that he thinks maybe he can be good. That he thinks his cold, harsh, icy heart can thaw. Can be something that maybe someone would want to claim. Someone—Leonard means Raymond.

 

He doesn’t deserve that. Doesn’t deserve someone as good, as kind, as _heroic_ as Raymond. It’s good, really, that Kendra got to him first. She’s good. She’s kind and sweet and badass. She can give Raymond what _he_ deserves.

 

But, even as Leonard toys with the idea of staying a criminal, he knows he can’t. Even if it kills him, being a Legend, he has to see it through. Barry Allen yanked him off his path, set him on a new one, and he can’t go back. Not after all this time with the Legends.

 

Not after the way Sara jokes with him, the way Jax has grown to trust him, the way that Raymond, apparently, _relies_ on him. Not even Mick can pull him back. It’s too late, Leonard is in too deep in this _heroism bullshit_.

 

So, that’s it. He’s in this for the long haul. Even if it kills him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for beta-ing, Ruth, ilu!


	6. Magnificent Eight, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard has conversations with Sara, Jonah, and Ray, overhears some very interesting things from the bedroom next to his, and has Ray's back as a sniper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the rating has changed. This is part 2/3 for Magnificent Eight.

“…so I guess now I’m going on a walkabout with Kendra tomorrow,” Sara finishes, taking a swig of her beer.

 

They’re in her room, and they’ve abandoned all attempts at playing cards, since Leonard kept dropping his cards when he tried to do much of anything with them—one-handed is not ideal for card games. Sara is talking about her earlier conversation with Kendra, and Leonard is trying not to laugh so much at her obvious crush. He fails.

 

“You sure you don’t want her to carry you?”

 

Sara rolls her eyes. “I’m sure.”

 

“You could cling to her like a monkey,” Leonard points out. “Your legs wrapped around her waist, your arms around her neck. Can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want that.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“But I’m right,” Leonard prods.

 

Sara makes a noise of disgust. “I am _trying_ to be subtle here. Just because you wouldn’t know subtlety if it punched you in the dick—”

 

“Hey!”

 

“—doesn’t mean that I have to make my crush known to everyone on the ship,” she finishes.

 

“I am plenty subtle,” Leonard insists.

 

“On some things,” Sara admits. “About your heart eyes for Ray? _Nope_.”

 

“Who else knows?” Leonard asks.

 

Sara shrugs. “Mick, obviously. I’m pretty sure Jax has picked up on it. Rip _definitely_ knows. I think Kendra _might_ have an inkling—”

 

“So that’s why she doesn’t talk to me,” Leonard mutters.

 

“ _You_ don’t talk to her, either,” Sara points out.

 

“True,” Leonard admits. “Okay, okay, so most of the team knows. _Raymond_ doesn’t, so clearly I’m still pretty subtle.”

 

Sara laughs. “Ray is even more oblivious than you are, dumbass.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

She smirks. “You are _so very welcome_.” Her expression falters a bit. “Hey, I wanna tell you something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else about it, okay?”

 

Leonard’s curiosity is piqued. He loves knowing secrets. “I promise.”

 

Sara looks around furtively, even though they’re locked up tight in her room. “Okay, so, I don’t think she even realized she said it, but when Kendra was talking about going to find this woman, she said she wanted to find her to see if the woman had clues on finding Carter.”

 

Leonard’s jaw drops. “On finding _Carter?_ ” he asks. “But Carter is _dead_ —”

 

“Not in all lifetimes,” Sara reminds him.

 

“—and Kendra is dating _Raymond_ ,” Leonard finishes.

 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Sara agreed. “Like I said, I don’t think she realized she said it. But, like, I don’t think Ray knows that she’s going out to look for her dead ex. And, actually, I’m kinda glad I’m only crushing on her from afar. I don’t think I’d want to be competing with the whole dead soulmate thing.”

 

Leonard nods, fury building in his chest.

 

“ _Snart_ ,” Sara warns. “You promised not to say anything, don’t you dare go tearing off to tell him this.”

 

“I won’t,” he promises. “I just…correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s not a great thing to do to your partner.”

 

“It’s not,” Sara confirms. “It’s definitely not good. Kendra’s great, but I just don’t think she should have gotten into a relationship with someone, at least not so soon after Carter’s death.”

 

“They _were_ stuck in the 1950s together,” Leonard says.

 

“Ugh, yeah,” Sara says. “I wasn’t there when they got picked back up, but apparently Kendra just snapped back to, like, hawk goddess mode and left Ray in the dust for a bit. He was all stuck on the life they had together, and Kendra basically was like, ‘Okay, we’re back, time to move on,’ like they didn’t spend two years trapped in the past together. At least I had the good sense to leave them and go to Nanda Parbat.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Leonard’s rage keeps building. He mentally takes back all his previous thoughts about Kendra being good for Raymond.

 

“Oh, they talked it out, I guess, but Ray was pretty torn up about it at first.” Sara shrugs. “I don’t know, he just doesn’t seem right for her. Not that I’m saying I would be better, especially if Kendra is still hung up on Carter, which seems to be the case, but I just think he’s too, I don’t know, _serious_ for her.”

 

“So you don’t think she’s looking at things with Raymond as being long-term?” Leonard asks.

 

Sara thinks for a second. “No,” she answers, finally. “She might _think_ she does, but I don’t really think she is as invested in this as Ray is.”

 

Leonard growls. “Let me tell Raymond,” he says.

 

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Sara says, smacking his arm with her palm. It stings. “You promised, Snart, and this is all just speculation. We _don’t_ know what goes on in their relationship, or what she tells him. For all we know, he could already know all this and be okay with it.”

 

“He shouldn’t be okay with it,” Leonard snarls.

 

Sara rolls her eyes. “I agree, but it’s none of our business. Just because you have a crush on Ray doesn’t mean you know what’s going on with him and Kendra, or that you owe him anything. It’s better to just stay out of it and let them work it out between them.”

 

Leonard doesn’t agree, not really, but he’ll stay quiet. At least Sara is right about the fact that it’s not his business. He and Raymond aren’t close, anyway. And as much as Leonard would love Raymond and Kendra to break up, the reality is that Raymond is happy with Kendra, or at least he seems to be.

 

Would Raymond really be any happier with Leonard? Probably not. Leonard isn’t exactly a joy to be around, especially right now. He’s not so far gone that he prioritizes his own obnoxious feelings above Raymond’s happiness. Or, maybe he’s so far gone that Raymond’s happiness is more important to him than actually getting to be with Raymond.

 

Who the fuck knows, honestly? Certainly not Leonard, and he doesn’t think Sara knows either. He doesn’t bother asking her, she’d only tease him mercilessly.

 

Sara finishes her beer and tosses the bottle into the trash. “I should get some sleep if Kendra and I are gonna head out at dawn,” she says, and stretches her socked feet out to push at his shoulder. “Go away.”

 

Leonard sighs dramatically, because he knows it annoys her, and pushes up off the bed. “I _guess_ I should go see if Raymond has finished fiddling with my prosthetic hand—and no, I’m not gonna tell him, Sara, I promised,” he says, seeing that she’s about to protest. “As much as I want to, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

 

She gives him a piercing glare, but nods. “You’d better.”

 

“I _will_ ,” he promises again. “Sweet dreams,” he says, smirking at her. Sara rolls her eyes, and Leonard leaves before she can find something to throw at him.

 

Yup, she definitely reminds him of Lisa.

 

Leonard heads to the lab to see if he can get some practice in with the prosthesis before he has to act as Raymond’s sniper bright and early in the morning. How Raymond had talked him into that—well, he knows exactly how. Those big brown eyes, that trusting smile… Leonard really needs to learn how to say no to Raymond, but it doesn’t seem like that’s gonna happen any time soon.

 

He’s walking through the corridors, past the bridge, when he sees movement in the dim lighting of Rip’s office. Movement that doesn’t look like Rip. Leonard steps onto the bridge and, as his eyes adjust, he makes out the slight form of Hex. Leonard is surprised to see the man on the bridge—he’d have expected Hex to go back to town, to wherever he was staying. Or, possibly, into Rip’s room.

 

Since Leonard didn’t get to tease any information about Hex’s past with Rip out of any of his teammates, he might as well go right to the source.

 

“Hex,” Leonard says in greeting, walking across the bridge to lean against the doorway of the office.

 

Hex glances over his shoulder, seemingly unsurprised at Leonard’s presence. “Snart, right?” he asks, turning back to the spot on the wall he’s been staring at.

 

Leonard makes a sound of agreement before peering over Hex’s shoulder to see what the man is looking at. It’s a poster he’s seen a million times—after all, he cased the ship thoroughly as soon as he had a second. But he hadn’t really _looked_ at it, at least not closely enough to connect the dots between the wanted poster hanging on Rip’s office wall and the man standing in front of him.

 

Because, holy fuck, that sure is a wanted poster of Jonah Hex hanging on Rip’s wall, clear as day. If Leonard wasn’t convinced earlier that Hex and Rip had a sordid past, he is now. People don’t just hang wanted posters on their walls of people they don’t have strong feelings for, one way or the other. At least, Leonard’s never met anyone who just hung up a picture of their casual acquaintance.

 

“ _So_ ,” Leonard says, pointedly, “you and Rip, huh?”

 

Hex turns around to face Leonard, hands on his hips. “Not quite sure I get your meanin’,” he says, equally as pointed.

 

Leonard shrugs casually, pushing off the wall and stepping fully into the office. “I just mean that you and Rip seem to have a history. An _intimate_ history.”

 

An uncomfortable silence passes between them, briefly, before Leonard realizes that maybe he’s approaching this the wrong way. He’d assumed that, with all his knowledge that cowboy culture wasn’t as straight as people would assume from watching Westerns, that people were as open about it as they are in Leonard’s time, or even more so. That might not be accurate. Hex might not be withholding because it’s not true, he might be withholding because he’s not sure what Leonard’s angle on this is.

 

He might be keeping silent because he’s not sure if Leonard is going to attack him for his previous relationship with a man.

 

“I wouldn’t fault you for it,” Leonard continues, trying to figure out what might get Hex to spill. “I mean, not that Rip is my type, necessarily, but he’s more my type than not.”

 

Hex still doesn’t speak.

 

Leonard tries one more time. “I prefer men,” he says, and wow, it feels weird to say it out loud, casually. He’s said it before—to his sister. To Mick. To certain previous partners. Never this casually, never to what amounts to a complete stranger.

 

It’s nice. It’s freeing. He doesn’t see his father around every corner, and he can taste freedom in the words.

 

“You do?” Hex asks.

 

Leonard nods.

 

Hex sighs, tension flooding out of him. “Yeah, me’n Rip were…” He trails off, turning back around to stare at the wanted poster again.

 

“ _Lovers_?” Leonard prompts, figuring that ‘boyfriends’ might be too recent of a term for this time period.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Jackpot. Although…Leonard thought it would feel more like victory, finding out a secret about his tight-lipped and secretive captain. It rings a bit hollow, instead, and Leonard feels for the man standing in front of him.

 

“What happened?” Leonard asks.

 

“He left,” Hex growls.

 

“To be with Miranda?” Leonard plops down in the chair next to the door, kicking his feet up. Hex just keeps staring at the damn poster.

 

“Hell if I know. Says he’s on this mission to save her, though.” Hex doesn’t sound too pleased.

 

“And his son,” Leonard adds. Hold on. _Jonas._ “His son, Jonas.”

 

Hex spins sharply. “What did you say?” he demands.

 

Leonard meets his gaze steadily. “He named his son after you, didn’t he, _Jonah_?”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Snart,” a familiar English voice sounds from the middle of the bridge. “ _Much obliged_. If you don’t mind, I believe Dr. Palmer is looking for you.”

 

Whoops. Leonard hadn’t even heard Rip approach. He stands up and turns to face Rip. Even in the dim light, he can see that his captain’s eyes are sad.

 

From behind him, he hears Hex growl. “You named your _goddamn son_ after me, Rip?”

 

Rip sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Yes, Jonah. I did.” He looks up, glancing pointedly at Leonard.

 

As much as Leonard would like to stay and listen…well, he can. He’ll find Raymond later, but he can eavesdrop _now_. He nods and stalks out, keeping his footsteps quiet so that Rip doesn’t notice that they don’t disappear down the hallway.

 

A few seconds pass, and Leonard figures it’s safe to shuffle back closer to the door to catch the soft words that Rip is saying.

 

“—late, Jonah. Can we not have this argument now?” Rip pleads.

 

“How long’s it been for you, Rip? Since you left?” Jonah asks, his voice seemingly stuck in a low, dangerous growl.

 

Silence, for a few seconds. “Ten years, I think.”

 

Leonard barely catches Hex’s sharp exhale. “You don’t look older than you did. But then, you said you were older than you looked, back then, too.”

 

“I told you, Jonah,” Rip says, “Time Masters age slower than normal. We spend so much time in the temporal zone—that place I told you about, where time doesn’t exist—”

 

“Yeah, I remember. Still doesn’t explain—”

 

“I named him Jonas because you were _important to me_ , Jonah,” Rip says, cutting him off.

 

Hex lets out a _humph_. “Not important enough to stay.”

 

Leonard doesn’t get to hear what Rip’s quiet response is, because he hears familiar footsteps coming down the hallway, headed to the bridge. _Raymond_ , shit. He hurries down the hallway, away from the bridge, towards Raymond. If Raymond speaks, Rip will hear, and will know that Leonard has been listening.

 

And, really, Leonard shouldn’t be listening. It’s not like Rip will probably kick him off the ship or anything, or that he probably doesn’t already suspect that Leonard would listen in. It’s just that Leonard would rather avoid the stern talking-to that Rip would give him. Also, he figures that Hex is having a bad enough day without Leonard fucking it up even more than he already has.

 

Raymond turns the corner, running directly into the hand Leonard was holding up at approximate mouth-level.

 

“Mmph?” Raymond asks, as Leonard digs his fingers into Raymond’s cheeks to keep him quiet.

 

“Shh,” Leonard says, and glares to make sure Raymond gets the picture. Raymond nods, eyes wide, and Leonard removes his hand, only to grab onto Raymond’s arm with it and drag him further away from the bridge. Once they’re at what Leonard judges to be a safe distance away he lets go of Raymond’s arm. “Okay, you can talk now,” he says.

 

“What was that about?” Raymond asks, eyes still big and bright. Leonard hates them.

 

“I was eavesdropping,” Leonard says, attempting offhandedness. It mostly works.

 

Raymond groans. “On _what_? Wait, no, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

 

Leonard looks up at him and smirks. “You sure?”

 

“Uh…” Raymond pauses, considering.

 

“You don’t want to hear what Rip and Hex were talking about?” Leonard prods.

 

That seems to convince Raymond because he shakes his head. “No. That’s their business, I don’t—I don’t need to know that.”

 

Leonard raises an eyebrow. “So you think there’s something going on between them?” he asks.

 

“I didn’t say that,” Raymond corrects, quickly. _Too_ quickly. Leonard waits, staring Raymond down. Raymond starts to squirm and finally says, “Okay, yes.” He throws his hands up, and only then does Leonard notice that he’s got the prosthesis clutched in his right hand. “Did you know that the coat Rip always wears used to belong to Hex?”

 

Leonard’s jaw drops. “What?” He _knows_ now that Rip and Hex were definitely together, but it’s still shocking that Rip would keep wearing his ex-boyfriend’s coat after so many years.

 

Raymond nods. “Yeah, I know! I don’t want to, like, gossip or speculate but—”

 

“ _Please_ do.”

 

“—but there were definitely some significant glances going on between them when we brought Hex onto the ship,” Raymond finishes. “So I think they—” he waves his hand vaguely— “were _something_.”

 

“They were,” Leonard confirms. Raymond looks at him, confused. “Hex told me.”

 

Raymond lets out a low whistle. “No wonder Rip didn’t want to leave the ship.”

 

“Didn’t want to run into his ex,” Leonard says.

 

“Can’t say I blame him,” Raymond mutters. “Anyway!” He brightens up and holds out the prosthetic hand. “I’ve done some work on it, so it should be ready for tomorrow morning!”

 

Leonard holds his stump out and lets Raymond slip the prosthesis on over the black stretchy sleeve and press the button to clamp it down on his forearm. Once it’s securely on, he taps the neural network implant.

 

He feels the hand practically come alive, and he can’t stop from smiling as the fingers twitch. He’s still not able to form a good fist, but his trigger finger works well enough, and that’s what matters for the morning.

 

“Feel good?” Raymond asks.

 

Leonard looks back up at him. “Yeah,” he says. “Still can’t believe you want me to be your sniper, though. With, you know, all this.” He holds up the hand.

 

Raymond smiles, bright and sunny. “I trust you to have my back.”

 

_Fuck_. “Even though Hex is more familiar with the weaponry in this time period?”

 

“I don’t know him,” Raymond says. “I know _you_. I’m not sure Mick’s all the way back from his time as Chronos—and I trust you more than I trust him, anyway.” Raymond continues counting off their teammates, not noticing Leonard’s face blanching at his words. “You’re faster on the draw than Jax, definitely a better shot than Stein. Kendra says that she and Sara are going… _somewhere_ tomorrow morning, so they can’t help. And Rip won’t leave the ship. So, _you’re_ my best bet.”

 

“You’re putting a lot of faith in me, Raymond,” Leonard can’t stop himself from saying.

 

Raymond shrugs. “You’ve earned it.” When Leonard doesn’t—can’t—respond, Raymond smiles again, pats him on the shoulder, and walks off in the direction of the living quarters.

 

That’s just not fair. Raymond shouldn’t be allowed to say things like that to Leonard, not when he’s going back to his girlfriend. Not when Leonard is already in too deep on this. But Raymond doesn’t know that, doesn’t know the effect his words have on Leonard.

 

Doesn’t know that Leonard is head over heels for him, and only getting in deeper as the days go by.

 

Leonard makes a noise of disgust, annoyed at himself for being _so weak_ , and follows in Raymond’s wake. Better get some sleep for his early morning tomorrow, where he has to try to not mess up Raymond’s misplaced faith in him.

 

Because he doesn’t deserve it. Not _really_. It’s clear that Raymond has a warped view of him, that he thinks Leonard is a better person than he really is. Choosing the team over Mick _one time_ doesn’t make Leonard a hero. Nothing he’s done with this team has been particularly heroic, just what anyone would have done in the same situation.

 

Plus, Leonard has fucked plenty up, too. So it must be that Raymond is either unwittingly or willingly ignorant of Leonard’s true character—Raymond is naive, and too trusting for his own good, if he thinks that Leonard is _trustworthy_.

 

Even with all that, it feels nice, although Leonard hates to admit it. It feels _good_ to have someone believe in him, even if he knows he’s going to shatter that belief at some point in the future.

 

He always does.

 

When he gets back to his room and finishes getting ready for bed, he knows he should practice with at least the small six-shooter he has, but he’s exhausted. The four hours of sleep he got who knows how many hours ago clearly wasn’t enough, even with the twelve hours he got before. He can wake up early and work on things tomorrow. At least he knows he can shoot a gun, but it won’t hurt to be over-prepared—especially because messing up might mean Raymond gets injured, or even killed.

 

As he lays down to go to sleep, he hears rustling and some very interesting noises from the room next door and—oh, Kendra and Raymond moved into that room, didn’t they? They moved into the room that had previously just been Ray’s? Things have been such a whirlwind since they got back, and it’s only been a few days, so their schedules haven’t lined up but…

 

Well, Raymond and Kendra are clearly having sex. Or on their way to it, if their mutters about various items of clothing being in the way are an indication of that. Just fucking _great_. Exactly what Leonard needed—to hear the guy he’s got feelings for have sex with someone else.

 

Sara sure wasn’t kidding about the thin walls. Well, Leonard had experienced them a bit himself but his teammates tend to be quieter when they’re just jerking off. Sex is a whole other matter, especially since it seems like Raymond and Kendra aren’t used to being quiet—they keep shushing each other, and then immediately getting louder again. They _have_ had two years of living alone, where they didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing them.

 

Leonard considers banging on the wall and yelling at them to quit it but…

 

A drawer slides open and shut on the other side of the wall. “You want me to use this tonight?” he hears Kendra ask, breathlessly, and his curiosity gets the better of him. He wonders what kind of toy she might be talking about.

 

Raymond _moans_. “ _Yes_.”

 

Yeah, Leonard’s definitely not gonna yell at them to stop, shit, this is really hot. He’d feel a little guiltier about listening in if he didn’t _know_ that the entire team knows how thin the walls are. The two of them know that someone will probably overhear, and they clearly don’t care enough about it to stop. Leonard might as well take advantage of it.

 

Of course, he usually jerks off with his right hand, and no way is he gonna put on the prosthesis for this—even if he trusted the gears and moving parts not to pinch, he’s not good enough with it anyway. So, left hand it is.

 

He hears more rustling, more noises—mostly coming from Raymond, to Leonard’s vague surprise—and then Kendra asks, “How’re you doing, babe? You ready?”

 

_She’s_ checking in on _him_. Interesting. If they’re doing what he thinks they might be doing, then Kendra and Raymond are apparently a lot less vanilla than Leonard had expected them to be.

 

Raymond lets out another loud moan, and follows it with a, “Oh, god, _yes_.”

 

More rustling, a lot more moaning, and then he hears Raymond breathe in a loud gasp.

 

“Am I going too fast?” Kendra asks, softly.

 

“No—no,” Raymond stutters. “Keep going, oh, _fuck_.”

 

This is the first time Leonard has ever heard Raymond really swear, and he’s not sure ‘fuck’ ever sounded so hot. It’s more a plea than anything, drawn out and gasping, and Leonard is _really fucking turned on_.

 

“Keep going,” Raymond repeats, breathlessly begging. “D—deeper, _please_.”

 

If Leonard wasn’t sure before, he is now. The _toy_ Kendra was referring to must have been a strap-on, and she’s currently pegging Raymond. Leonard _really_ doesn’t need to know this, _really_ doesn’t need to know what Raymond sounds like with a dick inside him, doesn’t need to hear Raymond _begging_ to be fucked—“Faster, Kendra, oh, fuck, _please, Kendra—_ ”

 

He really doesn’t need any of this, but it’s happening anyway, and he might as well enjoy it as much as he can.

 

Jerking off is definitely not as easy with his non-dominant hand, but he is annoyingly grateful for the pump-bottle of lube in the drawer next to his bed for making it not matter quite as much. It still feels slightly weird, but it’ll get the job done, and that’s all that matters.

 

Kendra is muttering praise under her breath. Leonard can only catch a few words here and there because she’s mostly drowned out by the _completely filthy_ sounds Raymond is making. God _damn_ that boy can moan. Leonard isn’t going to last much longer, but it doesn’t sound like Raymond will either. He’s less sure on the status of Kendra, especially since he’s mostly trying to tune her out and focus on Raymond.

 

Not that Kendra isn’t gorgeous, but Leonard would much rather go with the picture in his head—the one where _he_ is on top of and inside of Raymond, instead of Kendra.

 

Leonard lets his imagination run wild, mixing with the sounds coming from Raymond through the wall, and it’s not long before he comes, biting down on his lip to keep from making any noises of his own and alerting his teammates that he’s been jerking off to the sounds of them having sex.

 

He hasn’t even caught his breath before he hears Raymond gasp in a broken breath and let it out in a shaky, “ _Kendra_.” The noises next door pause, and Leonard cleans himself up, wondering if it’s over.

 

It’s not.

 

There’s more rustling, shifting around, and now it’s apparently Kendra’s turn to make the majority of the noises. From the sounds of it, Raymond is going down on her, and Kendra is _really_ enjoying it. Now that Leonard has come—and now that Kendra’s the one making the noises—Leonard really just wants them to shut up so he can sleep.

 

Luckily it doesn’t go on for too much longer, and Leonard can enjoy peace and quiet. Well, quiet. He’s not sure about the peace part. Now that everything has stopped, Leonard feels a bit guilty. This isn’t the first time this has happened to him, but this is _Raymond_. Raymond, who Leonard is going to have to look in the eyes tomorrow morning and follow his instructions and go up on a rooftop and _have his back_.

 

He’s going to have to have Raymond’s back, while having spent the previous night jerking off to the sound of Raymond having sex with his girlfriend.

 

Just his fucking luck.

 

Annoyed with himself, Leonard forces himself into sleep, so he can at least be coherent in the morning, for whatever happens.

 

* * *

 

Sara takes one look at him across the galley table as she plops down in the chair opposite him the next morning, and says, “You heard, too, huh?”

 

Leonard looks around, but the room is thankfully still empty. He sighs. “I heard.” He assumes she’s talking about Raymond and Kendra, since her bedroom is on the other side of theirs.

 

“That was… _interesting_.” Sara smirks at him. “I had no idea Ray would be so...noisy.”

 

“It’s too early for this,” Leonard groans, and takes a large gulp of his iced coffee. He’s been working with his prosthesis since he woke up, the fingers curled around an unloaded six-shooter, pulling on the trigger to loosen up the finger.

 

She keeps going, though, like he knew she would. “I mean I know he’s _enthusiastic_ but this was a whole new—”

 

“ _Sara_ ,” Leonard growls, “ _shut up_.”

 

“Aww,” Sara coos, “is someone _jealous_?”

 

Leonard wants to slap her, especially since she already knows the answer to that question.

 

“What’s Snart jealous about now?” Mick asks, as he walks into the galley and pokes at the fabricator, an overfilled plate of food appearing in the alcove.

 

“ _Nothing_ —” Leonard tries to say, but Sara cuts him off.

 

“We overheard Ray and Kendra having sex last night.”

 

Mick snorts. “Sounds about right.”

 

Leonard makes a noise of disgust and stands up. “If you two are gonna gang up on me, I’m outta here.” He chugs the rest of his coffee and dumps the glass in the dishwasher. Might as well get some fresh air, check out some sight-lines, before time runs out.

 

It’s the early hours of dawn and mist is choking the air, bathing everything in a strange haze that doesn’t feel real. Leonard takes a second to marvel at the fact that he’s in the Old West. He still isn’t used to all this—to _time travel_.

 

They’ve been moving so fast that nothing has really had time to sink in. But he’s walking through the past; not on a movie set or on a bullshit ghost tour with a guide in incorrect period attire, but the actual _past_. This is history he’s stepping in.

 

He walks into the middle of the square and breathes in the air. It’s clean, pure, cold. It soothes and calms him, and helps him start to shed his awkwardness about the night before, helps him shed his worry about the stand-off that Raymond is planning.

 

Leonard has only had a few moments to himself before footsteps approach. He spins, turning to see Raymond striding towards him, the shiny sheriff badge pinned prominently to his chest. The calm that had been settling in Leonard’s stomach disappears. He feels heat rushing to his face as he acutely remembers the sounds he heard Raymond making last night.

 

And things had been going so well.

 

“Morning, Snart!” Raymond says, and Leonard can see him beaming in the slow-growing light of dawn.

 

Leonard can only nod in response; his throat has gone dry and he doesn’t trust himself enough this early to not say something stupid.

 

“You ready?” Raymond asks, walking over to stand beside him and take in the town square. The sun is coming up and the light is starting to shine through the mist, turning murky shadows ethereal, like something out of a fairy tale.

 

But it’s not a fairy tale, and Leonard isn’t sure he’s ready. “You know this is real, right?” he asks.

 

Raymond glances over at him, confused. “Yeah…?”

 

“It’s not a story, Raymond. If I’m too slow, you could get hurt, you could get _killed_.”

 

“I _know_ , Snart.” Raymond looks out across the square, hands perched awkwardly on his hips. “But I have to do _something_. These people are being terrorized, and I can do something about it. What kind of hero would I be if I just sat back and watched it happen?”

 

“A living one,” Leonard replies.

 

Raymond shakes his head. “Not really a great hero if I care more about my own life than the lives of innocent people.”

 

Leonard snorts. “I don’t know, Raymond, you seem pretty innocent to me.”

 

There’s no response, and Leonard glances at Raymond out of the corner of his eye, before turning his whole head to look. There’s sadness there, almost desperation, but only for a second, before Raymond forces up a smile. “I guess I probably do, huh?” He flashes that smile at Leonard. Usually Leonard would be knocked off-kilter by the radiating sunshine, but…he doesn’t trust this one.

 

There’s something fake about it, and it makes Leonard reconsider all the other smiles he’s seen from Raymond—were some of them fake, too? Was he right, earlier, that the sunshine is a mask? Leonard wants to say something, wants to ask, but he’s not sure how. He’s not sure what wouldn’t just get Raymond to snap the mask up higher, to deflect.

 

Not that Leonard, king of deflections, would blame him. Leonard just isn’t sure he’d get anywhere by asking Raymond outright.

 

He sighs. “Yeah, Raymond, I’m ready,” he says.

 

Raymond’s smile grows, and Leonard thinks this one might be real. “Yee-haw!” Raymond exclaims. Leonard rolls his eyes. _Dork_. “Okay, so Hex was thinking they’d ride in from there—” Raymond points out of town, past a few buildings— “so I thought you could set up maybe to the side, in one of those buildings over there?” Raymond points again, to the buildings he’d just mentioned.

 

Leonard looks them over, mentally measuring sight-lines and the direction of the sun, and nods. “That one,” he says, pointing to a building with a small balcony on the second floor. “You got the rifle?”

 

“Hex is bringing it,” Raymond says, already striding over to the front door of the building, which looks like a private residence. Leonard follows behind as Raymond knocks on the door and explains the situations to the people inside. They look at Leonard suspiciously, his still-bruised face hidden underneath the wide brim of his hat, but they agree to let him set up in the window.

 

Raymond charmed them, easily and effortlessly. He can be smooth when he wants to be, Leonard thinks. Well, in certain situations. When he’s putting on a show, embodying a character. Because this man standing in front of him isn’t Ray Palmer. It’s Sheriff John Wayne, and Sheriff John Wayne is charming and charismatic, with a silver tongue and a winning smile.

 

He’s still a fucking dork, though.

 

The rest of the team had wandered into town while Raymond was charming the tenants, and Hex walks over to hand him the rifle.

 

“I trust you know how to use this,” Hex says.

 

Leonard nods. “Be a short stand-off if I didn’t.”

 

Hex just grunts in response. He looks slightly less cranky than he did the night before, and Leonard wonders if something happened. But the sun is coming up, no time to nose his way into Hex’s business. Instead, Leonard just nods and walks into the building, with a quick tip of his hat at the people congregating in the doorway. The prosthesis is safely hidden under gloves again, but a sliver shines through in the light, catching everyone’s attention. He moves on before they can ask.

 

The upstairs is empty, and Leonard sets up in the window. He takes a few practice shots with the gun unloaded, just to get a feel for it. Then he loads the gun. “Target practice,” he calls, his voice echoing through the square. The people below all scurry out of the way, except for his teammates, who just laze around. They know he’s not gonna aim for any of them.

 

He picks a wooden crate, sees the metal bracing around it, and aims for one of the places where the metal overlaps. It’s a small enough area that he thinks he can hit it, and it’s reinforced enough that it shouldn’t cause too much damage to the object.

 

Leonard takes a deep breath, and lets the world fall away. All that’s left is that one, tiny spot. He sets up the shot, takes another slow, calm breath, and shoots.

 

Miss.

 

He curses and puts the gun down, shaking out the prosthesis. It had been _close_ , but close doesn’t cut it. What went wrong? He’d been slightly high—the weight of the prosthesis is throwing him off, and he’s overcompensating for it. Earlier, with ginger, he’d been slightly low, and the shot had gone into the man’s belly instead of pinging off the gun. He needs to find a happy medium in between the two.

 

Leonard picks up the rifle again and focuses on the weight of it in his hands. He makes minuscule adjustments until he feels used to the combined weight of the hand and the gun. Another breath in, and he shoots again.

 

Hit.

 

He lets himself feel smug for a few seconds, and then reloads, picks another target, and shoots again. And again. He’s starting to feel pretty good about it when he hears horses, approaching fast, and the sound of gunshots. The gang is riding into town, and the man at the front—who Leonard assumes is Stillwater—is firing his gun into the air, presumably to get everyone’s attention.

 

It certainly gets Raymond’s attention, since he hurries out of the sheriff’s office to take up his place back in the middle of the town square.

 

Leonard sets up, ignoring the yelling going back and forth between Stillwater and Raymond. He just keeps his mind clear and his eyes focused on Stillwater, watching for any tells that show that Stillwater might be reaching for his gun. He doesn’t even spare a glance at Raymond, even though he’s dying to look, to check. If he looks away for even a second, it could get Raymond killed.

 

Luckily, Stillwater emphasizes his movements, throws his coat back over his hip, and puts his hand on his gun. He doesn’t see Raymond reaching for his own gun, so he doesn’t bother to try to be fast, which works perfectly for Leonard.

 

He has a split second of panic before his instincts kick in. He can make the shot, he’s made this shot a dozen times before. Stillwater pulls his gun and Leonard shoots, smooth and lightning-fast.

 

Hit.

 

The gun flies out of Stillwater’s hand. A perfect shot—not even a graze.

 

“You get out of town and you don’t come back, or the next bullet goes in your eye,” Raymond says, voice booming sure and strong across the square. Leonard chances a glance, finds Raymond standing his ground. That’s hot. Leonard looks back at Stillwater, just in case, but he can still see Raymond out of the corner of his eye, stepping forward slightly to square off against Stillwater. “I got sharpshooters all around. You really wanna test me?”

 

It’s nice of Raymond to refer to Leonard, all by his lonesome, as ‘sharpshooters,’ and even nicer to watch Raymond be so in control of the situation. Raymond is such a happy-go-lucky dork most of the time and Leonard is glad of the reminder that Raymond is actually competent and capable—not just because in-charge Raymond could fuel a good number of fantasies.

 

Stillwater glances around nervously. “Let’s ride, boys,” he says after a few seconds of indecision. He gets back on his horse and leads his men out of town with a, “Hyah!”

 

Leonard keeps his gun trained on the men as they ride out of town. Once they’re out of range, he looks back down at the square just in time to see Raymond glance up and tip his hat in Leonard’s direction. It brings Leonard crashing back down to earth, the world pouring back in. He hears the sound of the townspeople again for the first time since Stillwater’s gang rode in, and he’s not sure if they just started being loud again or if he’d been tuning them out.

 

He grimaces as he pulls away from the window, the noise and the fucking look in Raymond’s eyes getting to him. Raymond looked at Leonard like he’d had met all expectations perfectly, and he hates it. That trust, that belief, it’s gonna bite Raymond in the ass—Leonard will let him down, just like he lets everyone down.

 

Leonard will betray his trust one day, just like he betrays everyone’s trust.

 

Just like he betrayed Mick’s trust.

 

He heads down the stairs, spilling out into the square. The townspeople are still in a hubbub and he hears scattered bits of conversation as he follows in the path his teammates are taking back to the ship.

 

“—saved us!”

 

“The sheriff was so brave—”

 

“Amazing—”

 

“—didn’t even _flinch_ —”

 

Didn’t—what? Didn’t flinch when? Leonard falls in stride with Hex, who looks at him with a bit of a smirk.

 

“What?” Leonard asks, trying to piece together if it was Raymond who didn’t twitch, and when, and _why_.

 

It seems as though Hex has picked up on something, though, because he glances over his shoulder at the person who made the last comment, and then back at Leonard’s probably-confused expression. “Was quite a shot there, Snart,” Hex says. “Did’ya hear what they said?”

 

“Which part?” Leonard asks.

 

Hex grins, wide and feral, the expression stretching out the cord of skin running over the corner of his mouth. “Palmer didn’t flinch, you caught that, right? Stillwater pulled a gun, and Palmer trusted you to keep him safe.”

 

Leonard doesn’t respond, just glares at Hex out of the corner of his eye. He’s not sure where Hex is going with this, but he thinks Hex may be turning the tables on him for their conversation last night. He thinks Hex might be calling him out on his feelings for Raymond. _Shit_ , is he as obvious as Hex and Rip?

 

“Doesn’t seem like the two of you have a past,” Hex continues, “not like me’n Rip. So, tell me, why’d you look so upset when he tipped his hat at you?”

 

“I don’t deserve the faith Raymond has in me,” Leonard mutters, after turning the question over in his mind, trying to figure out if he’s going to lie or not. Hex was honest with him last night, though, so he probably owes the man the same courtesy.

 

“Why?” Hex asks. “You kept him alive out there. He didn’t get shot, you didn’t kill nobody, I thought that was the plan.”

 

“It was, but—”

 

“But nothin’. Whinin’ won’t get you anywhere.”

 

Leonard almost flinches. “I’m not whining,” he insists.

 

Hex glances over at him. “What you said last night, about, y’know—”

 

“Liking men?”

 

“You’ve got a thing for the guy, don’t you?”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Leonard asks.

 

Hex glances around as they step onto the ship, as if he’s looking for someone—for Rip. “Everythin’ just feels a lot more intense when it’s about someone you care for.”

 

Leonard shakes his head and stalks forward, away from Hex. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t need Hex to give him advice. Hex doesn’t know his past, doesn’t know about all the people he’s betrayed. Hex doesn’t know about how everyone who ever put their trust in Leonard has ended up screwed over in the end.

 

Everyone except Lisa.

 

“Dude, that was _badass_!” Jax caws, brimming with leftover adrenaline. Leonard isn’t sure if the kid is talking to him or Raymond, but he’s still cranky about the whole thing.

 

“Let’s not oversell it,” Leonard drawls, trying to get as far away as he can from Hex and that knowing glint in his eye. Ugh, why had he tried to get close to Hex, just to get some juicy gossip? This is what you get for being nosy—get one guy to talk about his ex, and then have him use your own words against you.

 

Even with all that, though, Leonard can’t bring himself to regret opening up last night. It was nice to know he can say those words—can say that he prefers men—and it won’t hurt him. He can say the words without them stinging, and even if they come back to haunt him, like they are right now, it’s not in the same way as it has been in the past. It’s more that Leonard doesn’t like people knowing that he has _feelings_ , rather than not wanting people to know that he’s queer.

 

“Running a bad guy outta town’s always been on my bucket list,” Raymond says, and Leonard doesn’t even need to look at him to know that he’s beaming.

 

“Bucket list?” he hears Hex ask.

 

“A list of things one hopes to accomplish before they die,” Stein answers.

 

Hex calls over to Raymond, “Well you’d better hope it’s a real short list, String Bean.”

 

“We can handle the Stillwater gang,” Raymond says, confident and sure, as they walk onto the bridge.

 

Leonard retreats, as usual, to the edges of the room, while the rest of the team bickers. Hex and Rip’s exchanges are even more charged than Leonard had expected them to be, and he’s now not surprised that even Raymond picked up on their past so easily. Not that Raymond isn’t brilliant, he just misses a lot of social cues.

 

But Hex and Rip can’t seem to take their eyes off each other, right up until the point Rip asks Hex to follow him off the bridge. Hex glances over and catches Leonard’s eye before following Rip out into the hallway. Leonard watches them leave, and has half a mind to follow them, but the rest of his teammates are investigating that thing that Hex mentioned—”Calvert”—and Leonard’s curiosity decides it’s more interested in that.

 

Calvert was a town apparently and, well, if the town’s destruction is Rip’s fault, or at least partially caused by him leaving…that’s one hell of a breakup. Leonard doesn’t envy either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to my wonderful beta, Ruth!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Coldatomies for letting me steal away this idea to make my own. <3 
> 
> Thanks to Ruth for beta-ing, as always. <3
> 
> Title re-purposed from The Lord of the Rings: "He has a mind of metal and wheels..."
> 
> On a personal note, I am disabled, but I am not an amputee. I have done research, but please do let me know if I get things wrong. I also know that this is the most common type of disability story--the one where the character gets a disability later in life and has to come to terms with it. This is my story, but it is only one type of story. I do not speak for all people in the disabled community, and I certainly don't aim to speak for anyone in the amputee community.
> 
> I just want to tell this story, Leonard's story, something that I wish we had seen them explore more on screen. 
> 
> I hope I do it justice, and that I do it with kindness. I do it with kindness in my heart, but good intentions do not always mean anything.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://snartbaiting.tumblr.com)


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